That midnight when the moon was tall
I walked alone by the white lake—yet with a vanished race
And with a race to come. To walk with dead men is to pray,
To walk with men unborn—to find the way.
I have seen many days. That night I watched them all.
I have seen many a sign and trace
Of beauty and of hope:
An elm at night; an arrowy waterfall;
The illimitable round unbroken scope
Of life; a friend’s unfrightened dying face.