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Augusta Davies Webster - A Comrade
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"I AM Joy," she said; but her voice was low,    
Too low for laughter;
    "I am Love "; but her eyes lacked Love`s quick glow, 
   And the tear that springs after;
"I am Life"; but she seemed too calm, too still,
Like one who waits, but forgets to-morrow;
    Then she took my hand, and I did her will,
And knew she was Sorrow.

And she led me on through the world we see,
    Where smiles are many;
    Through the fever and stir of life`s hot glee
    That waits never for any;
Through the silence of rest when dreams are o`er
And stillness is sweeter than hope`s best pleasure;
    Through the peace when nought is to garner more
Of Love`s plenished treasure.

So at length we twain were the truest pair,
    More kind than lovers.
    Then she said "After blight the boughs are bare,
    Yet the strong tree recovers;
And anew hast thou Life, Love, Joy, at call:
Unclasp my hand." And I clasped, denying;
    "Thou art best, more strong, more true than all;
And after thee dying."
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