Infinite Depths
The little pool, in street or field apart,
Glasses deep heavens and the rushing storm;
And into silent depths of every heart,
The Eternal throws its awful shadow-form.
A Leaf From the Devil’s Jest-Book
Beside the sewing-table chained and bent,
They stitch for the lady, tyrannous and proud—
For her a wedding-gown, for them a shroud;
They stitch and stitch, but never mend the rent
Torn in life’s golden curtains. Glad Youth went,
And left them alone with Time; and now if bowed
With burdens they should sob and cry aloud,—
Wondering, the rich would look from their content.
And so this glimmering life at last recedes
In unknown, endless depths beyond recall;
And what’s the worth of all our ancient creeds,
If here at the end of ages this is all—
A white face floating in the whirling ball,
A dead face plashing in the river reeds?