LIONEL JOHNSON
Which are more full of fate: The stars; or those sad eyes ? Which are more still and great: Those brows, or the dark skies?
Although his whole heart yearn In passionate tragedy, Never was face so stern With sweet austerity.
Vanquished in life, his death By beauty made amends' The passing of his breath Won his defeated ends.
Brief life, and haplebs ? Nay. Through death, life grew sublime. Speak after sentence? Yea. And to the end of time.
Armour'd he rides, his head Bare to the stars of doom, He triumphs now, the dead, Beholding London's gloom.
Our wearier spirit faints, Vex'd in the world's employ: His soul was of the saints, And art to him was joy. Men hunger for thy grace: And through the night I go, Loving thy mournful face.
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