If only in your life to live, might I
Perchance those broken chords with my own meet,
Though quite imperfect, yet but thus to try
Were oh, so wondrous sweet.
Not the broad high-roads which you would have trod,
A lonely wanderer these may not essay,
Still, spirit mine, the by-paths that I plod
Do lead the selfsame way.
And if a little part I should fulfil
Of those fair deeds which you hoped to pursue —
Oh, how content to walk the miles until
I reach my home and you.