They sought their silent beds at his command,

And it seems

Strange that their life-long dreams

Shall find them no more,—never bid them arise

And go forth with a glory in their eyes.

II.

Still, voiceless, cold,

They lie in their shrouds and hold

The crumbling links that make

A chain for Memory's sake,

Broken, alas! too soon.

Blithe morn and brazen noon

And eve with garb of gray and gold,

Know them no more in the dark ways they take.

They have forgot the sun,

And the fiery worlds that run

About it. Something—(what, let no man say,)—

Begot of mystery is in mystery done:

The rest shall be with them and God alway.

[56]

 Prev. P 54/90 next