Fog, and a wind that blows the sea
Blindly into my eyes.
And I know not if my soul shall be
When the day dies.
But if it be not and I lose
All that men live to gain —
I who have little known but hues
Of wind and rain —
Still I shall envy no man's lot,
For I have held this great,
Never in whines to have forgot
That Fate is Fate.