Who had intended always to be glad.
.... The touch of his compassion, like a mother’s,
Pitied the madman, soothed him and caressed.
And then I heard him speak,
In a low voice: “Mon frère, mon frère!
Calme-toi! Right here’s your place.”
And, opening his coat, he pressed
Upon his heart the wanderer’s face
And smoothed the tangled hair.
After a moment peaceful there,