Chapter VII

I mark you well, my companions,
Though you do not mark me.

To which one of you shall I go
As the girl to me once came,
And take your hands, and speak
With silence across gulfs of silence?

Where in your mist
Is the friend who might be mine?
Do the pale blue veils of smoke
So utterly hide him?

Life, like a restless wave,
Has gathered us here together
As pebbles upon a remote shore—
Scattered when the next wave shall come.