54
“WHERE ROADS JOINED"
While the phasm of him who fared starts up,
And of her who was waiting him sobs from near,
As they haunt there and drink the worm-wood cup
They filled for themselves when their sky was clear.
Yes, I see those roads—now rutted and bare,
While over the gate is no sun-glazed sea;
And though life laughed when I halted there,
It is where I never again would be.
