There is no chance, no destiny, no fate, that can circumvent or hinder or control the firm resolve of a determined soul.

I knew it the first of the summer, I knew it the same at the end, That you and your love were plighted, But couldn't you be my friend?

Hide in your heart a bitter thought, Still it has power to blight; Think Love, although you speak it not It gives the world more light.

How will it be when one of us alone Goes on that strange last journey of the soul? That certain search for an uncertain goal, That voyage on which no comradeship is known?

While forced to dwell apart from thy dear face, Love, robed like sorrow, led me by the hand And taught my doubting heart to understand That which has puzzled all the human race.

Time sped. And the poet through sorrow Became like his suffering kind. Again he toiled over his poems To lighten the grief of his mind.

All roads that lead to God are good.