That was three years ago, that hour at dusk,
And now they say she is dead.
But that is a mistake:
Even for me who never knew her she still lives.
HIS NAME
He loved men with a great soul’s deepest love;
He saw in them truth, hope, the very flame
Of constancy. And then alone
He died. Men have forgot his name.
MIST
I
I climb them step by step,—
The vanished years.
Stumbling I pause to look below,
Down wells of time, so black, so deep
Their waters keep
No sound,
Nor show a star,
Nor hold a memory.
II
Sometimes I kneel and look above
That dark stairway
At years to come;
My fingers clasp my fears,
Where my hopes go.
Up there, beyond that last, gray step,
Afar,
Within that roof of mist,
What is that shape in flight
Dim, strong and slow?