"In some tomorrow no longer mine, methinks I see, beloved, stretches of greenwood where
thrushes dip and grain parts heavily that the sun may swing to the West's deep---and faint stars, the same familiar stars on which I swore or swung my hope, come and the same moon which seems so confidently my companion keeping new trysts; the same familiar chirrup in the grass and the lovering leaves embracing. All of this I see in a new tomorrow which hath no part with me.
Oh, you who trod therein, know this; how in confusion I did party with thy day, thy selfsame day, in my benighted seeking. Listlessly moved I upon that same urge which now directs thy progress. The moon to me seemed an icy bubble, floating and I beneath her gazed me upward wondering, wondering. And my heart froze in comtemplation of that awesome stretch, impenetrable! And the stars, oh brother, the age-old stars streaming the lore of paster ages earthward enriching me with that subtle substance which enshrouds them, phantoms that they are of myriad hopes and fears and troths. And those familiar sounds which grate, marked me with comfort, gave me a twig to crush within my hand, a closer contact with the things that be.
Know this, oh brother, 'tis I who speak, a shadow from that other day.
Be comforted!" - PATIENCE WORTH
"A day shall dawn when I shall be not, and when the busy world wags on; not a pebble cast by me, nor yet work may I claim. The morning sun shall warm the world to life and rain fall on the rotting grass where I am laid. But on a day whose dawn breaks gray, shall I not play a part? E'en like the sunrise, prisoned as a painter's stroke within a mussell's shell, the beauty-store of its full life, this past of mine shall gleam through mist, to glorify another day."
'TIS I WHO SPEAK, A SHADOW OF ANOTHER DAY.