The Goal.

ON the grey levels of the plain of life
When, slowly swirled,
The moving hills of morning mist
Hedged in the world —
While yet undared the path of toil and strife,
I found a friend
Whose faith I pictured would persist
Until the end.
Then peered the stooping sun across the plain —
The world he kissed;
In sudden glory shimmering
Flamed all the mist!
The sullen Darkness carried off his slain,
And straight away,
Like a forefinger beckoning,
The white road lay.
Her hand in mine, upon the path we pressed;
Together shared
The flowers we plucked — to find them pain;
And forward fared
Till we stood radiant on the mountain crest;
And still ahead,
Dipping to pleasant depths of plain,
The white road led.
But when I urged her onward to the end
Her heart peered out
Upon the road's unswerving leap
In dizzy doubt.
"Nay, we have reached the highest, why descend?"
Her lips demurred —
And with us, gazing at the steep,
There stood a third.
Her eyes clasped his in an embrace of love.
Said they: "No more;
Here on the crest is our abode,
Our journey o'er;
The goal for you!" So, leaving them above,
I went alone —
And still the arrow of the road
Sped on, straight on!
But darker and more desolate the way,
Until I turned —
Lo, in the halo of the sun
The lovers burned,
High on the mountain-top! Ah, what if they,
By passion kissed,
The goal of life and love have won,
And I have missed?