EPILOGUE

Than farthest stars more distant,

A mile more,

A mile more,

A voice cries on insistent:

“You may smile more if you will;

“You may sing too and spring too;

But numb at last

And dumb at last,

Whatever port you cling to,

You must come at last to a hill.

“And never a man you'll find there

To take your hand

And shake your hand;

But when you go behind there

You must make your hand a sword

“To fence with a foeman swarthy,

And swink there

Nor shrink there,

Though cowardly and worthy

Must drink there one reward.”