XIX.
For we were of the few who knew his face,
Nor only heard the rumor of his fame;
This house beside the sea the sacred place
Where first with thee to clasp his hand I came—
Art's knight of courtesy, well-pleased to commend
Who to my youth accorded the dear name
Of poet, and the dearer name of friend.
XX.
AH, that last bottle of old Gascon wine
We drank together! I remember too
How carefully he placed it where the shine
Of the warm sun might pierce it through and through—
Wise in all gentle, hospitable arts—
And there was sunshine in it when we drew
The cork and drank, and sunshine in our hearts.
XXI.
O mourners by the sea, who loved him most!
I watch you where you move, I see you all;
Unmarked I glide among you like a ghost,
And on the portico, in room and hall,
Lay visionary fingers on your hair.
You do not feel their unsubstantial fall
Nor hear my silent tread, but I am there.
XXII.
I WOULD my thought had but the weakest throat,
To set the air a-vibrate with a word.
Alas! dumb, ineffectual, remote,
I murmur, but my solace is not heard;
Nor, could I reach you, would your grief abate.
What sorrow ever was with speech deterred?
What power has Song against the hand of Fate?...