Our journey had advanced;
Our feet were almost come
To that odd fork in Being's road,
Eternity by term.

Heaven is so far of the Mind
That were the Mind dissolved --
The Site --of it --by Architect
Could not again be proved --

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tunes without the words- /And never stops-at all-.

Parting is all we know of heaven,
And all we need of hell.

Till the first friend dies, we think our ecstasy impersonal, but then discover that he was the cup from which we drank it, itself as yet unknown.