Ripe glory of the noon, august, and proud, A vision of high purpose, power, and skill, That melteth into mirage of good-will-- Do I o"ertake thee, or embrace a cloud?
III
Gray shadow of the evening, gaunt and bare, At random cast, beyond me or above, And cold as memory in the arms of love-- If I o"ertook thee now, what should I care?
[Ill.u.s.tration: 176.]
IV
"No morn, or noon, or eve am I," she said;
"But night--the depth of night behind the sun; By all mankind pursued; but never won, Until my shadow falls upon a shade."
1894.