THE MASTERS
Two with great hearts, deeply you proved them.
Laughing you loved them, childlike you said,
"Oh, but this is the part—!" Almost I reproved them
Drawing you from me, minds long dead.
Yet forever your voice, wraith that was rapture!
What great-souled spaces the while you read
Joy—pain—mirth—all I would capture,—
Dickens and Browning—your bended head …
Heaven of lamplight I long for lonely
Where all the folk of their fancy tread;
Three small faces, and mine,—and only
Dickens and Browning—your bended head!