My destiny it is tonight
To sit with pensive brow
Beside my study fire and write
This verse I’m making now.
This Period, this tiny dot
My pencil has defined,
By centuries of human thought
Was predestined.
And my last period of all
With patience now I see;
The final point so very small,
That locks my life for me.
Yet in eternity of time
They relatively seem
So like,–the dot that rounds my rhyme
Or ends my dream.
For each was preordained by Fate
Since human life began;
So are the little and the great
Linked in the life of man.
And as I wait without heartache
The pencil-point of God,
To pattern predestined I make
This——.
