Читать книгу Hazards - Wilfrid Wilson Gibson - Страница 14

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I touched his shrinking shoulder with my hand,

As he turned home, and said “I understand!”

And he glanced back at me with gratitude:

And yet, what was it that I understood?

If he had asked me, what could I have said?

I just felt sorry for that stricken head:

All that I understood was his distress,

And not the wherefore of his wretchedness.

He was to me as much a mystery

As each man to his fellowmen must be,

Even the nearest and the dearest friends—

Each living his own life to his own ends,

But clasping hands in fellowship, and then

Withdrawing each into himself again

The moment after. Oh, could we but live

A mutual life, however fugitive,

One in each ecstasy of joy and woe

With one another, would not we forgo

The lonely years that we must travel yet

Till each must face alone the last sunset!