THERE are broken threads, I cannot knit to-night, There are thoughts astray, that will not bear the light,

Hopes and fears of wild rash wandering ways, The crushed up longings of a hundred days.


There are untrod roads I see them stretch afar, There are untold hills before I reach that star, Endless broken bridges, barriers thrust aside, And all the gateways standing gaping wide.


Surely beyond the ridge, I see it stand out clear, There shines the guide post, by which I know to steer. Silver bright, the glad clean sweeping road. And at the sunset, lay down every load.


Leave broken things, there comes some time an end When all unfinished things (towards this way) will bend,

Wildings born of the great untamed wind; All gathered up at sunset, we will find.