 | The New Medusa, and other poems |  |
LIFE'S GAME.
Life's Evil Genius with the sunless wingAnd our white Guardian Angel sit and play
Their silent game of skill from day to day,
Where thoughts are pawns, and deeds are queens and kings.
And every move on that strange chessboard brings
Some change in us—in what we do or say;
Till with our life the winner sweeps
The last few pawns to which his rival clings.
We seem permitted, ever and anon,
To catch a glimpse of that great fatal game
By which our soul shall be or lost or won.
We watch one move, then turn away in shame;
But though we lack the courage to look on,
The game goes on without us all the same.
| The New Medusa, and other poems | |