Henry W. Grady
ATLANTA, DECEMBER 23, 1889
TRUE-HEARTED friend of all true friendliness! —
Brother of all true brotherhoods! — Thy hand
And its late pressure now we understand
Most fully, as it falls thus gestureless
And Silence lulls thee into sweet excess
Of sleep. Sleep thou content! — Thy loved Southland
Is swept with tears, as rain in sunshine; and
Through all the frozen North our eyes confess
Like sorrow — seeing still the princely sign
Set on thy lifted brow, and the rapt light
Of the dark, tender, melancholy eyes —
Thrilled with the music of those lips of thine,
And yet the fire thereof that lights the night
With the white splendor of thy prophecies.
TRUE-HEARTED friend of all true friendliness! —
Brother of all true brotherhoods! — Thy hand
And its late pressure now we understand
Most fully, as it falls thus gestureless
And Silence lulls thee into sweet excess
Of sleep. Sleep thou content! — Thy loved Southland
Is swept with tears, as rain in sunshine; and
Through all the frozen North our eyes confess
Like sorrow — seeing still the princely sign
Set on thy lifted brow, and the rapt light
Of the dark, tender, melancholy eyes —
Thrilled with the music of those lips of thine,
And yet the fire thereof that lights the night
With the white splendor of thy prophecies.
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