Between the roadside and the wood,
Between the dawning and the dew,
A tiny flower before the wind,
Ephemeral in time, I grew.
The chance of straying feet came by,—
Nor death nor love nor any name
Known among men in all their lands,—
Yet failure put desire to shame.
To-night can bring no healing now,
The calm of yesternight is gone;
Surely the wind is but the wind,
And I a broken waif thereon.
How fair my thousand brothers wave
Upon the floor of God’s abode:
Whence came that careless wanderer
Between the woodside and the road!