Classic Poem

XXV

We are all near to death. But in my friends
I am forewarned too closely of that nearness.
Death haunts their days that are; in him descends
The darkness that shall change their living dearness
To something different, made within my mind
By memories and recordings and convenings
Of voices heard through veils and faces blind
To the kind light of my autumnal gleanings.

Not so much for myself I feel that fear
As for all those in whom my loves must die;
Thus, like some hooded death, I stand apart
And in their happiest moments I can hear
Silence unending, when those lives must lie
Hoarded like happy summers in my heart.