I had gathered the sweets of a summer day:
I was called to stand where a flaming sword
Turned every way.
It spared not the weak—nor the strong—nor the dear;
And following fast, like a phantom band,
Famine and Fever and shuddering Fear
Swept o'er the land.
They whispered that Hope, the angel of light,
Would spread her white wings and speed her away;
But she folded me close in my longest night