Of comradeship spread in briefest span;
The guerdon our toils and our pains had won,
Was too great for two, was enough for one;
And deeper and deeper grew the gloom
When the serpent tongue had power to sting,
While o’er one of us hung the untimely doom,
A winter’s night to a day of spring;
And heart from heart parting fell away
At the fiat of Fate by her iron sway.
It seems as though from a foamy[[77]] dream