From Deathland floating free!
Sweet dawns were yours, bright noons and starry nights;
Your heart lay on the bosoms of the hills—
Clear was your soul as dew that God distills
Upon His sacred heights!
And you are gone, and only one remains
Of the three Southern singers loved so well;
To-night the wind in sympathy would quell
The grief of woods and plains—
Saying: “They were our friends, they understood