EnoughAuthor(s): Winifred WebbSource: Poetry, Vol. 9, No. 3 (Dec., 1916), p. 121Published by: Poetry FoundationStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20570989 .

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The Most-Sacred Mountain

But I shall go down from this airy space, this swift white peace, this stinging exultation.

And time will close about me, and my soul stir to the rhythm of the daily round.

Yet, having known, life will not press so close, and always I shall feel time ravel tI-hin about me;

For once I stood In the white windy presence of eternity.

Eunice Tietjens

ENOUGH

I was born to those who longed for me Ere ever my life began;

I have glimpsed the soul of a woman, And fought the fight of a man;

I have reared a child, and thought of God: Now, Death, do what you can!

Winifred Webb

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