I

“Poor wanderer,” said the leaden sky,

   “I fain would lighten thee,

But there be laws in force on high

   Which say it must not be.”

II

—“I would not freeze thee, shorn one,” cried

   The North, “knew I but how

To warm my breath, to slack my stride;

   But I am ruled as thou.”

III

—“To-morrow I attack thee, wight,”

   Said Sickness.  “Yet I swear

I bear thy little ark no spite,

   But am bid enter there.”

IV

—“Come hither, Son,” I heard Death say;

   “I did not will a grave

Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,

   But I, too, am a slave!”

V

We smiled upon each other then,

   And life to me wore less

That fell contour it wore ere when

   They owned their passiveness.