* * * * *

  Life, that dares send
  A challenge to his end,
  And when it comes, say “Welcome, friend!”

There is much more, but the best of the thoughts are here.  They are not exactly new thoughts, nor strange thoughts, but they are finely expressed in a strong and simple way.

There is another composition on the same subject—­the imaginary spouse, the destined one.  But this is written by a woman, Christina Rossetti.

SOMEWHERE OR OTHER

  Somewhere or other there must surely be
    The face not seen, the voice not heard,
  The heart that not yet—­never yet—­ah me! 
    Made answer to my word.

  Somewhere or other, may be near or far;
    Past land and sea, clean out of sight;
  Beyond the wondering moon, beyond the star
    That tracks her night by night.

  Somewhere or other, may be far or near;
    With just a wall, a hedge between;
  With just the last leaves of the dying year,
    Fallen on a turf grown green.

And that turf means of course the turf of a grave in the churchyard.  This poem expresses fear that the destined one never can be met, because death may come before the meeting time.  All through the poem there is the suggestion of an old belief that for every man and for every woman there must be a mate, yet that it is a chance whether the mate will ever be found.

You observe that all of these are ghostly poems, whether prospective or retrospective.  Here is another prospective poem: 

AMATURUS

  Somewhere beneath the sun,
    These quivering heart-strings prove it,
  Somewhere there must be one
    Made for this soul, to move it;
  Someone that hides her sweetness
    From neighbors whom she slights,
  Nor can attain completeness,
    Nor give her heart its rights;
  Someone whom I could court
    With no great change of manner,
  Still holding reason’s fort
    Though waving fancy’s banner;
  A lady, not so queenly
    As to disdain my hand,
  Yet born to smile serenely
    Like those that rule the land;
  Noble, but not too proud;
    With soft hair simply folded,
  And bright face crescent-browed
    And throat by Muses moulded;

  Keen lips, that shape soft sayings
    Like crystals of the snow,
  With pretty half-betrayings
    Of things one may not know;
  Fair hand, whose touches thrill,
    Like golden rod of wonder,
  Which Hermes wields at will
    Spirit and flesh to sunder. 
  Forth, Love, and find this maid,
    Wherever she be hidden;
  Speak, Love, be not afraid,
    But plead as thou art bidden;
  And say, that he who taught thee
    His yearning want and pain,
  Too dearly dearly bought thee
    To part with thee in vain.