As feels a soldier, falling at his post,
With heart shell’d out and emptied of the soul.
I could but find excuses, partly real
And partly feign’d, the fringe of ready whims.
XLVII.
She startled echoes from my inmost soul
By words that named my “life-work.”
“Yes,” I said;
“We all should sympathize. All own one lord;
All wait beside one shore; all watch one tide.—