was it? One feared the world,
The pity of men, or their scorn; yet carelessly hurled
All on the balance of Chance for a state unknown;
Fled the laughter of men for the anger of God--alone.

Perhaps when the hot blood streamed on the daisied sod,
Poor soul, you were likened to Cain, and you fled from God;
Men say you fought hard for your life, when the deed was done;
But your body would rise no more 'neath this world's sun.

I'd choose--should I do the act--such a night as this,
When the sea throws up white arms for the wild wind's kiss;
When the waves shake the shuddering shore with their foamy jaws;
Tear the strand, till slipping pebbles shriek through their claws.

The sky is loud with the storm; not a bird dare span
From here to the mist; beasts are silent; yet for a man,
For a soul springing naked to meet its judge, a night
That were as a brother to this poor spirit's long flight.

But he had chosen, they tell me, a dusk so fair
One almost thought there were not such another--there.
The air was full of the perfume of pines, and the sweet
Sleepy chirp of birds, long the lush soft grass at his feet.

They say there was dancing too in a house close by,
That they heard the shot just thinking wild birds must die.
They supped and laughed, went singing the long night through,
And they danced unknowing the dance of death with you.

What did you hear when you opened the doors of death?
Was it the sob of a thrush, or a slow sweet breath
Of the perfumed air that blew through the doors with you,
That you fought so hard to regain the world you knew?

Or was it a woman's cry that, shrieking into the gloom,
Like a hand that closed on your soul clutching it from its doom?
Was it a mother's call, or the touch of a baby's kiss,
That followed your desperate soul down the black abyss?

What did you see--as you stood on the other side--
A strange shy soul amongst souls, did you seek to hide
From the ghosts that were who judged you upon your way,
Reckoned your sins against theirs for the judgment day?

You feared the world, the pity of men or their scorn,
The movements of fate and the sorrows for which you were born.
Men's laughter, men's speech, their judging, what was it to this
Where the eyes of the dead proclaim you have done amiss.

Not peace did you gain, perhaps, nor the rest you had planned,
'N