Thomas Edward Brown (1830–1897)

I NEEDS must meet him, for he hath beset

All roads that men do travel, hill and plain;

Nor aught that breathes shall pass

Unchallenged of his debt.

But what and if, when I shall whet

My front to meet him, then, as in a glass,

Darkly, I shall behold that he is twain—

Earthward a mask of jet,

Heavenward a coronet

Sun-flushed with roseate gleams—In any case

It hardly can be called a mortal pain

To meet whom met I ne’er shall meet again.