User:Alf.laylah.wa.laylah/emily


 * My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
 * Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
 * So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men,
 * One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
 * The green mounds of the village burial-place;
 * Where, pondering how all human love and hate
 * Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
 * Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
 * And cold hands folded over a still heart,
 * Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
 * Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
 * Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
 * Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
 * Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave!