NECROMANCE

Can heedless gazing teach me more than toil?

Can swaying of sere sedge along the slope,

Or the dull lisp of oaken limbs that foil

The sun's ensheathing fervor, interfuse

My vacant being with far meanings whose

Soft airs blow from the hidden seas of Hope?

Or can the wintry sumac sably stooping

So charm and lift my heart from heartless drooping

When other healings all were asked in vain?

Yes — there are witcheries in the things of earth

That breathe with an illimitable voice

Wisdom and calm to us, and lure to birth

Dim intimations bidding us rejoice

Even in the great mystery of Pain.