If only in your life to live, might I

Perchance those broken chords with my own meet,

Though quite imperfect, yet but thus to try

Were oh, so wondrous sweet.

Not the broad high-roads which you would have trod,

A lonely wanderer these may not essay,

Still, spirit mine, the by-paths that I plod

Do lead the selfsame way.

And if a little part I should fulfil

Of those fair deeds which you hoped to pursue—

Oh, how content to walk the miles until

I reach my home and you.