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 | The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder |  |
DESECRATION
The poet died last night;
Outworn his mortal frame.
He hath fought well the fight,
And won a deathless name.
Outworn his mortal frame.
He hath fought well the fight,
And won a deathless name.
Bring laurel for his bier,
And flowers to deck the hearse.
The tribute of a tear
To his immortal verse.
And flowers to deck the hearse.
The tribute of a tear
To his immortal verse.
Husht is that piercing strain—
Who heard, for pleasure wept.
His were our joy and pain;
He sang—our sorrow slept.
Who heard, for pleasure wept.
His were our joy and pain;
He sang—our sorrow slept.
137
Yes, weep for him; no more
Shall such high songs have birth;
Gone is the harp he bore
Forever from the earth.
Shall such high songs have birth;
Gone is the harp he bore
Forever from the earth.
Weep, weep, and scatter flowers
Above his precious dust;
Child of the heavenly powers—
Divine, and pure, and just.
Above his precious dust;
Child of the heavenly powers—
Divine, and pure, and just.
Weep, weep—for when to-night
Shall hoot the hornèd owl,
Beneath the pale moon's light
The human ghouls will prowl.
Shall hoot the hornèd owl,
Beneath the pale moon's light
The human ghouls will prowl.
What creatures those will throng
Within the sacred gloom,
To do our poet wrong—
To break the sealèd tomb?
Within the sacred gloom,
To do our poet wrong—
To break the sealèd tomb?
Not the great world and gay
That pities not, nor halts
By thoughtless night or day,
But,—O more sordid-false!—
That pities not, nor halts
By thoughtless night or day,
But,—O more sordid-false!—
His trusted friend and near,
To whom his spirit moved;
The brother he held dear;
The woman that he loved.
To whom his spirit moved;
The brother he held dear;
The woman that he loved.
| The Poems of Richard Watson Gilder | |