XLIX
We never know we go, — when we are going
We jest and shut the door;
Fate following behind us bolts it,
And we accost no more.
L
The Soul’s Storm
It struck me every day
The lightning was as new
As if the cloud that instant slit
And let the fire through.
It burned me in the night,
It blistered in my dream;
It sickened fresh upon my sight
With every morning’s beam.
I thought that storm was brief, —
The maddest, quickest by;
But Nature lost the date of this,
And left it in the sky.