Classic Poem

One skilled in reading palms held lightly mine,
And half in earnest, half in jest (I thought),
My horoscope projected, line by line,
With a mock certainty, as though she wrought
The miracle of sunrise: " Written here
Wounds of ingratitude — there are no worse
Since Eve brought on the world the primal curse.
Yet patience! yours shall be the coming year. "

Dragged the dark days: the promise was uncrowned
By the least leaf of honor or of fame;
Fortune's retreating trumpet gave no sound.
Then with sweet unexpectedness you came,
A miracle of sunrise! — and I found
Graved in my palm the initial of your name.