XI

Without, you seem forgotten. Am I sad

Or happy? None can tell. The lonely days

Recur, and draw me on the beaten ways

Of all who strive and toil. The things I had

Remain; all daily happenings, good or bad,

Fall as they did: success and loss, delays

That sweeten victory: the balance sways

Unceasingly, makes heavy, or makes glad.

And this is life, such as the world demands.

Within,‘ tis otherwise; for in the far

Depths where my soul recoiled sits, there are

No echoes of such wisdom; there my hands

Are folded, and in yours: I seek your eyes,

Your voice, your smile.... Within,‘ tis otherwise.