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POEMS.
FLOWERS ON A GRAVE.
I.
HAT sweeter thing to hear, through tears, than this,Of one who dies, that, looking on him dead,
All men with tender reverence gazed and said:
"What courtesy and gentleness were his!
Our ruder lives, for years to come, will miss
His sweet serenity, which daily shed
A grace we scarcely felt, so deep inbred
Of nature was it. Loyalty which is
So loyal as his loyalty to friends
Is rare; such purity is rarer still."
Yes, there is yet one sweeter thing. It ends
The broken speech with sobs that choke and fill
Our throats.
Alas! lost friend, we knew not how
Our hearts were won to love thee, until now.
II.
Some lives are bright like torches, and their flame
Casts flickering lights around, and changeful heats;
Some lives blaze like the meteor which fleets
Across the sky; and some of lofty aim
Stand out like beacon-lights. But never came,
Or can, a light so satisfying sweet,
As steady daylight, unperturbed, complete,
And noiseless.
Human lives we see the same
Casts flickering lights around, and changeful heats;
Some lives blaze like the meteor which fleets
Across the sky; and some of lofty aim
Stand out like beacon-lights. But never came,
Or can, a light so satisfying sweet,
As steady daylight, unperturbed, complete,
And noiseless.
Human lives we see the same
