The Poetry Corner

Obviam

By Thomas Edward Brown

I needs must meet him, for he hath beset All roads that men do travel, hill and plain; Nor aught that breathes shall pass Unchallenged of his debt. But what and if, when I shall whet My front to meet him, then, as in a glass, Darkly, I shall behold that he is twain, Earthward a mask of jet, Heavenward a coronet Sun-flushed with roseate gleams, In any case It hardly can be called a mortal pain To meet whom met I ne'er shall meet again.