LIFE

A rind of light hangs low

On the rim of the world;

A sound of feet disturbs

The quiet of the cell

Where a rope and a beam looms high

At the end of the yard.

But in the dusk

Of that walled yard waits a woman;

And as the thing from its cell,

Still guarded and chained and bound,

Crosses that little space,

Silent, for ten brief steps,

A woman hangs on his neck.

And that walk from a cell to a sleep

Is known as Life,

And those ten dark steps

Of tangled rapture and tears

Men still call Love.