I do not know how I can tell
of things not done or even seen ;
Or how it is mere words can show
the shape and substance of a dream.

I do not know how life can turn
on just a single deed or thought ;
Or how it is the road we take
can lead to glory or to naught.

I do not know of ghosts and ghouls
and spirit worlds beyond the eye ;
Or how it is just children see
when fairies sing and dance and fly.

And I do not know how we are born
with heart and eye and sturdy limb -
that speaks of some adroit design
but was perhaps no more than whim.

I only know there is much more than
three score years and ten may show ;
For we are but marginal in air -
with heaven above and hell below.