The Journey of Life

I. FATE. Delicate omens traced in airTo the lone bard true witness bare;Birds with auguries on their wingsChanted undeceiving thingsHim to beckon, him to warn;Well might then the poet scornTo learn of scribe or courierHints writ in vaster character;And on his mind, at dawn of day, Soft shadows of the evening lay. For the prevision is alliedUnto the thing so signified;Or say, the foresight that awaitsIs the same Genius that creates.
FATE.