sky,
               And at every wandering cloud that trailed
                 Its raveled fleeces by.

               He did not wring his hands, as do
                 Those witless men who dare
               To try to rear the changeling Hope
                 In the cave of black Despair:
               He only looked upon the sun,
                 And drank the morning air.

               He did not wring his hands nor weep,
                 Nor did he peek or pine,
               But he drank the air as though it held
                 Some healthful anodyne;
               With open mouth he drank the sun
                 As though it had been wine!

               And I and all the souls in pain,
                 Who tramped the other ring,
               Forgot if we ourselves had done
                 A great or little thing,
               And watched with gaze of dull amaze
                 The man who had to swing.

               And strange it was to see him pass
                 With a step so light and gay,
               And strange it was to see him look
                 So wistfully at the day,
               And strange it was to think that he
                 Had such a debt to pay.

               For oak and elm have pleasant leaves
                 That in the spring-time shoot:
               But grim to see is the gallows-tree,
                 With its adder-bitten root,
               And, green or dry, a man must die
                 Before it bears its fruit!

               The loftiest place is that seat of grace
                 For which all worldlings try:
               But who would stand in hempen band
                 Upon a scaffold high,
               And through a murderer's collar take
                 His last look at the sky?

               It is sweet to dance to violins
                 When Love and Life are fair:
               To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes
                 Is delicate and rare:
               But it is not sweet with nimble feet
                 To dance upon the air!

               So with curious eyes and sick surmise
                 We watched him day by day,
               And wondered if each one of us
                 Would end the self-same way,
               For none can tell to what red Hell
                 His sightless soul may stray.

               At last the dead man walked no more
                 Amongst the Trial Men,
               And I knew that he was standing up
                 In the black dock's dreadful pen,
               And that never would I see his face
                 In God's sweet world again.

               Like two doomed ships that pass in storm
                 We had crossed each other's way:
               But we made no sign, we said no word,
                 We had no word to say;
               For we did not meet in the