Le Soir

Mute-lipped⁠—
                unquestioning grim-visaged Fate,
I cleave the shadows toward the Western Gate;
And yet⁠—
                my lagging heart still holds
Mute-arms outstretched
Unto earth’s gleaming folds.

Who knows?
                perhaps Hope’s blossoms spray
In lush profusion
O’er the edge of day!