'Poor wanderer,' said the leaden sky,

        'I fain wouldlighten thee,

But there are laws in force on high

       Which say it must not be.'

--'I would not freeze thee, shorn one,' cried

       The North, 'knew I but how

To warm my breath, to slack my stride;

        But I am ruled as thou.'

--'To-morrow I attack thee, wight,'

        Said Sickness, 'Yet I swear

I bear thy little ark no spite,

        But am bid enter there.'

--'Come hither, Son,' I heard Death say;

        'I did not will a grave

Should end thy pilgrimage to-day,

        But I, too, am a slave!'

We smiled upon each other then,

        And life to me had less

Of that fell look it wore ere when

        They owned their passiveness.