Wilt thou not keep the memory of earth,
Its smiles and sighs,
Shall wood, and metal, and white ivory,
Answer the touch of love and melody,
And Thou forget? Dear One, not so!
I move thee yet, though how I may not know,
Beyond the skies.
At the Last
Now, poor tired hands, be still,
Toil-stained through Death’s white hue;