I.
Mine eyes beheld thee—but not nigh: mine ear,
Close to thy page, could feel the beat, beat, beat,
That told thy great, good heart: now strangers’ feet
Have borne thee out. Thee? Nay, I have thee here
Forever young; nor less that eye, so clear,
Beams brotherhood, nor can the years that fleet
Leave me more lonely. No hot tear—full meet
From widowed Friendship—drop I on thy bier.
Some earth-stained page mars oft fair Friendships’s book;
And happier I, who saw thro’ Fancy’s light
Kin only of the sacred singing race,
Blameless of all that mars familiar sight!—
Then wherefore should I weep, who skyward look,
And mark a god move Godward to his place?