Classic Poem

I

How different now, old friend, the meeting!
Thy form, thy face, thy look the same, —
But where is now the kindly greeting,
The voice of cheer, the heart of flame?
There, in thy grandeur, calm and splendid, —
God's peace on that imperial brow, —
Thou standest, grief and trouble ended,
And we are nothing to thee now.

II

Yet once again the air is cloven
With joyous tumult of acclaim;
Once more the golden wreaths are woven,
Of love and honor, for thy name;
And round thee here, with tender longing,
As oft they did in days of old,
The comrades of thy soul come thronging,
Who never knew thee stern or cold.

III

Why waits, in frozen silence sleeping,
The smile that made our hearts rejoice?
Why, dead to laughing and to weeping,
Is hushed the music of thy voice?
By what strange mood of reverie haunted
Art thou, the gentle, grown austere?
And do we live in dreams enchanted,
To know thee gone, yet think thee here?

IV

Ah, fond pretence! ah, sweet beguiling!
Too well we know thy course is run.
There's no more grief and no more smiling
For thee henceforth beneath the sun.
In manhood's noon thy summons found thee,
In glory's blaze, on fortune's height,
Trailed the black robe of doom around thee,
And veiled thy radiant face in night.

V

This but the shadow of a vision
Our mourning souls alone can see,
That pierce through death to realms elysian
More hallowed now because of thee.
Yet, O, what heart, with recollection
Of thy colossal trance of pain,
Were now so selfish in affection
To wish thee back from heaven again!

VI

There must be, in those boundless spaces
Where thy great spirit wanders free,
Abodes of bliss, enchanted places,
That only love's white angels see!
And sure, if heavenly kindness showered
On every sufferer 'neath the sun
Shows any human spirit dowered
With love angelic, thou wert one!

VII

There's no grand impulse, no revealing,
In all the glorious world of art,
There's no sweet thought or noble feeling
That throbbed not in thy manly heart!
There's no strong flight of aspiration,
No reverent dream of realms divine,
No pulse, no thrill, no proud elation
Of god-like power that was not thine!

VIII

So stand forever, joyless, painless,
Supreme alike o'er smiles and tears,
Thou true man's image, strong and stainless,
Unchanged through all the changing years, —
While fame's blue crystal o'er thee bending
With honor's gems shall blaze and burn,
And rose and lily, round thee blending,
Adorn and bless thy hallowed urn!

IX

While summer days are long and lonely,
While autumn sunshine seems to weep,
While midnight hours are bleak, and only
The stars and clouds their vigils keep,
All gentle things that live shall moan thee,
All fond regrets forever wake;
For earth is happier having known thee,
And heaven is sweeter for thy sake!