 | Valete |  |
25
Death and Fame.
1890.
From Lym to Yar I crossed the Solent flood,
And sought the village nestling 'neath the Down
Where you, whom more than four-score summers crown,
Sing from the solemn shelter of your wood.
Once more beside your cedar-tree I stood,
Climbed the grey ridge, and saw the distance frown
And flash to silver, heard the long wave thrown
In music on your island solitude.
And sought the village nestling 'neath the Down
Where you, whom more than four-score summers crown,
Sing from the solemn shelter of your wood.
Once more beside your cedar-tree I stood,
Climbed the grey ridge, and saw the distance frown
And flash to silver, heard the long wave thrown
In music on your island solitude.
We talked of those old foemen, Death and Fame,
And you, you told me how a letter came
Wherein a young girl summoned heart to say—
“Tell him I read his poems, and I rise
Ever with will to be more good, more wise.”
You sighed, Death vanished, only Fame could stay.
And you, you told me how a letter came
Wherein a young girl summoned heart to say—
“Tell him I read his poems, and I rise
Ever with will to be more good, more wise.”
You sighed, Death vanished, only Fame could stay.
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