THE MORROW'S MESSAGE
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Thou Ghost,' I said, 'and is thy name To-day?--Yesterday's son, with such an abject brow!--And can To-morrow be more pale than thou?'While yet I spoke, the silence answered: 'Yea,Henceforth our issue is all grieved and grey,And each beforehand makes such poor avowAs of old leaves beneath the budding boughOr night-drift that the sundawn shreds away.' Then cried I: 'Mother of many malisons,O Earth, receive me to thy dusty bed!'But therewithal the tremulous silence said:'Lo! Love yet bids thy lady greet thee once:--Yea, twice,--whereby thy life is still the sun's;And thrice,--whereby the shadow of death is dead.'
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