Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf/172

vii.

Your loss is rarer; for this star

⁠Rose with you thro' a little arc
Of heaven, nor having wandered far,
⁠Shot on the sudden into dark.

viii.

I knew your brother: his mute dust

⁠I honour and his living worth:
A man more pure and bold and just
⁠Was never born into the earth.

ix.

I have not looked upon you nigh,

⁠Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep.
Great Nature is more wise than I:
⁠I will not tell you not to weep.

x.

And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew,

⁠Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain,
I will not even preach to you,
⁠"Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain."