And he who read was rapt to him who writ.
Twin stars they shine, one fame forevermore.
A fire of funeral blazed, beside the sobbing shore.
II
One slept a sacred sleep, while golden lay
Autumnal moonlight glorious on his bed,—
Sleep ebbing deathward like a sea-drawn bay.
A Book was in his hand, whence late he read
Majestic words of that great Spirit that still
Doth haunt by Avon April-garlanded.