Poetry Archives

. . . And then I came to Three ways,
And each was mine to choose;
For all of them were free ways,
To take or to refuse.
“Now which shall be the best way,
East, West or South?” said I . . .
So then I went the West way—
I often wonder why.

. . . And then I cam to Two ways,
And each was luring me:
For both of them were new ways,
And I was fancy free.
“Now which shall be the least way,”
Said I: “to gain my goal?”
And so I took the East way,
With freedom in my soul.

. . . And then I came to One way,
And to the South it ran;
Then lo! I saw this sun way
Was mine since time began;
My pitiless, my doom way;
No other could there be,
For at its end my tomb lay,
And it was waiting me. . . .
Poor fools! Who think you’re free.