Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Louis JamesBlock

1149 Fate

THREE steps and I reach the door,

But a whole month rolls between

Since last I stood before

My shut room’s simple scene.

I pause at the door and shrink,

My hand is at point to turn,

But I stand and dimly think

Of all I long for and yearn.

My life leaps up to me there,

The past with its every deed,

And I tremble and hardly dare

The open mystery to read.

A year and a day and awhile,

Ay me! there is none escape;

Each thought, each dream, each smile

Will front me in questioning shape.

I open and see what no eyes

Save mine have the power to see:

Dead scenes and dead griefs arise,

Dead follies make mouths at me.

Yea, so: through the dark I peer,

And shudder away from the door;

Voices once heard I hear,

Know faces seen long before.