IV
I know a fellow in a steel-mill who, intent
Upon his labors and his happiness, had meant
In his own wisdom to be blest,
Had made his own unaided way
To schooling, opportunity,
Success. And then he loved and married. And his bride,
After a brief year, died.
I went to him to see
If I might comfort him. The comfort came to me.
"David," I said, "under the temporary ache
There is unwonted nearness with the dead."
I felt his two hands take
The sentence from me with a grip
Forged in the mills. He told me that his tears were shed
Before her breath went. After that, instead
Of grief, she came herself. He felt her slip
Into his being like a miracle, her lip
Whispering on his, to slake
His need of her. "And in the night I wake
With wonder and I find my bride
And her embrace there in our bed,
Within my very being!—not outside.
"We have each other more, much more,"
He said, "now than before.
[7]
