Classic Poem

Death comes like this, I know —
Snow-soft and gently cold;
Impalpable battalions of thin mist,
Light-quenching and sound-smothering and slow.

Slack as a wind-spilled sail
The spent world flaps in space —
Day's but a grayer night, and the old sun
Up the blind sky goes heavily and pale.
Out of all circumstance
I drift or seem to drift
In a vague vapor-world that clings and veils
Great trees arow like kneeling elephants.

How vast your voice is grown
That was so silver-soft;
Dim dies the candle-glory of your face —
Though we go hand in hand, I am alone.

Now Love and all the warm
Pageant of livingness
Trouble my quiet like forgotten dreams
Of ancient thunder on the hills of storm.

Aforetime I have kissed
The feet of many gods;
But in this empty place, there is no god
Save only I, a naked egoist.

How loud, how terribly
Aflame are lights and sounds!
And yet I know beyond the fog is naught
But lonely bells across gray wastes of sea...