Mother, or sweetheart, or child, or wife.
Is there a haven where Hope is rife,
Holding a remnant of life’s design?
Is there a light on the shores of life,
Pointing a course from the sea of Wine?
[196]
]OUR LIMITATIONS.
We singers standing on the outer rim,
Who touch the fringe of poesy at times
With half-formed thoughts, rough-set in halting rhymes,
Through which no airy flights of fancy skim—