The Subalterns
“Poor wanderer,” said the leaden sky,“I fain would lighten thee,But there be laws in force on highWhich say it must not be.”
—“I would not freeze thee, shorn one,” criedThe North, “knew I but howTo warm my breath, to slack my stride;But I am ruled as thou.”
—“To-morrow I attack thee, wight,”Said Sickness. “Yet I swearI bear thy little ark no spite,But am bid enter there.”
—“Come hither, Son,” I heard Death say;“I did not will a graveShould end thy pilgrimage to-day,But I, too, am a slave!”
We smiled upon each other then,And life to me wore lessThat fell contour it wore ere whenThey owned their passiveness.
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