The limits of becoming mirth." His whim
Never shy delicacy's glance could dim,
Or move the cynic grin.
But that fate's hampering hand lay on him long
He might have won in drama and in song
A more enduring name.
But he is gone, the gentle, loyal, just,
Whence all these things fall earthward with the dust
Of fleeting earthly fame.
Gone from our hoard, gone from the home he loved!