Last night — or was it in the golden morn —
Once more I dreamed that I alone did fare
Forth into spirit-silences; and there
I found you not; my star was set! Forlorn,
I sought the kindred company of worn
And stricken souls — lost, sundered souls, who bear
Old and avoided crosses with each care
Woven together in their crowns of thorn.
Gods of the patient, vain endeavour, these
Claimed me and called me fellow, comrade, friend,
And bade me join in their brave litanies;
Because, though I had failed you, I dared bend
Before you without hope of one reward,
Save that in loving you my soul still soared.