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A Meeting

On a sheer peak of joy we meet;

Below us hums the abyss;

Death either way allures our feet

If we take one step amiss.

 

One moment let us drink the blue

Transcendent air together—

Then down where the same old work’s to do

In the same dull daily weather.

 

We may not wait . . . yet look below!

How part? On this keen ridge

But one may pass. They call you—go!

My life shall be your bridg.

e
Written by
Edith Wharton
1862-1937 / American
Lines·Words
12·79
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