To A. L. Gordon

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

In night-long days, in aeons
where all Time's nights are one;
where life and death sing paeans
as of Greeks and Galileans,
never begun or done;

where fate, the slow swooping condor,
comes glooming all the sky --
as you have pondered I ponder,
as you have wandered I wander,
as you have died, shall I die?

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