 | Vigil and vision |  |
117
MORTUIS DILECTIS.
1
YOU all, whom I have loved and who are dead,Leaving me here to face the end alone,
As one, who, in mid-battle, all his own
Sees fall'n, and single, in the setting red,
Stands, with war-wearied, if unbated head,
These, that like flowers in me, unsought, unsown,
By field and garden, street and shore, have blown,
Or in the midnight hours upon my bed,
On your cold ashes, for you loved me well
And your hearts throbbed with mine in hopes and fears,
This wreath I lay of mingling smiles and tears,
A garland not alone of funeral flowers,
In many a variance plucked of sun and showers,
The tale of Love's rememorance to tell.
2
Nay, they are yours: what time they grew in me,Through many a glad and sorry day and night,
Your thought was with me, in the morning-white,
The evening-red; it was your harmony
I hearkened for, your eyes that did o'ersee
The growing line, your voice that bade me write;
And gathered now upon this page of white,
To you alone they dedicate shall be
And those true hearts, that music love and song,
For very song's alone and music's sake,
Nor to the poet reckon it for wrong,
On song-bird fashion music if he make.
As for the others, be they who they may,
They say. What say they? Marry, let them say!
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