But we would fain forecast futurity,
Or read fate’s rune upon the sky’s calm face.
XVIII
And I could well believe that in the shade
Of this still vale the secret sign lies hid—
The secret that shall shape my life, unsaid,
As in a casket treasured with close lid;
XIX
Mid fir-woods dark, or tumbled crags, unknown,
Or in brown deeps, where swift the river flows