Augury

Edith Matilda Thomas (1854–1925)

A HORSE-SHOE nailed, for luck, upon a mast;

That mast, wave-bleached, upon the shore was cast!

I saw, and thence no fetich I revered,

But safe, through tempest, to my haven steered.

II.

The place with rose and myrtle was o’ergrown,

Yet Fear and Sorrow held it for their own.

A garden then I sowed without one fear,—

Sowed fennel, yet lived griefless all the year.

III.

Brave lines, long life, did my friend’s hand display.

Not so mine own; yet mine is quick to-day.

Once more in his I read Fate’s idle jest,

Then fold it down forever on his breast.