I End Not Far From My Going

One Age Is Like Another For The Soul.

The Footpath Down To The Well Is Healed.

Our Life Runs Down In Sending Up The Clock. The Brook Runs Down In Sending Up Our Life. The Sun Runs Down In Sending Up The Brook. And There Is Something Sending Up The Sun.

Have I Not Walked Without An Upward Look Of Caution Under Stars That Very Well Might Not Have Missed Me When They Shot And Fell? It Was A Risk I Had To Take-and Took.

Like A Piece Of Ice On A Hot Stove The Poem Must Ride On Its Own Melting.