The Comrades :: :: University of Virginia Library

In the heart of the white summer mist lay a green
little piece of the world;
And the tops of the beeches were lost in the mist,
and the mist ringed us round;
All the low leaves were silvered with dew, and the
herbage with dew was impearled;
And the turmoil of life was but vaguely divined
through the mist as a sound.

In the heart of the mist there was warmth—for the
soil full of sun was aglow
Like a fruit when it colours—and fragrance from
flowers and a scent from the soil;

And a lamb in the grass, in the flowers, in the dew,
nibbled—whiter than snow;
And the white summer mist was a fold for us both
against sorrow and toil.

From the fields in the mist came a bleating, a sound
as of longing and need;
But the lamb from the grass in its little green
heaven never lifted its head;
It was innocent, whiter than snow; it was glad in
the flowers, took no heed;
But the sound from the fields in the mist made me
grieve as for one that is dead.

And behold! 'twas a dream I had dreamed, and a
voice made me wake with a start;
Saying: “Hark! once again in the flesh shall ye
twain live your life for a span,
But since whiteness of snow is as nought in mine
eyes without pity of heart,
Lo! the lamb shall be born as a wolf, with a wolf's
heart, but thou as a man!”