Concerning the Next Book, to Be Called "The Pilgrimage"

More have I spoken of myself than her.
I feel you do not know my lady, yet;
But those who knew her once may not forget.
I am a pilgrim, — no mere wanderer
Upon life's way, — and often I confer
With those I would not; but my face is set
Towards that high goal where love and grief are met,
And each becomes the other's minister,

And memorable sorrow makes love memorable.
Then, when I have o'ercome the weary way,
I will for you go back to that first day
When first I saw her face, of her to tell.
And make to all a sanctity of pain
For that she was and shall not be again.