 | At Sunset |  |
57
OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES
How shall the Muse of vanished years
Fitly inscribe his two-fold page?
Wizard of laughter and of tears,
A master jester, and a sage.
Fitly inscribe his two-fold page?
Wizard of laughter and of tears,
A master jester, and a sage.
A presence answering to the cry,
“Lord! who shall show us any good?”
A sheaf of sunbeams passing by,
In jewels of delight renewed.
“Lord! who shall show us any good?”
A sheaf of sunbeams passing by,
In jewels of delight renewed.
Deftly he blew the pipes of Pan,
Or swept Apollo's golden lyre;
Rehearsing all the fate of Man,
How he must suffer, how aspire.
Or swept Apollo's golden lyre;
Rehearsing all the fate of Man,
How he must suffer, how aspire.
Oh! stay with us! Life cannot fail
When thou its varied values showest!
Or leave us thine immortal scale,
And all the wondrous lore thou knowest!
When thou its varied values showest!
Or leave us thine immortal scale,
And all the wondrous lore thou knowest!
Weeping, we laid his form in earth,
A soldier, fallen in the trenches,
A wingèd spirit, free of birth;
Look up! he 's singing in the branches.
A soldier, fallen in the trenches,
A wingèd spirit, free of birth;
Look up! he 's singing in the branches.
1894.
| At Sunset | |