 | Sonnets of the Wingless Hours |  |
93
IN MEMORIAM.
Marston, mourn not; Rossetti is not dead,
Though chill as clay is now his shrouded brow
Nor grudge the grave the flesh it gathers now
The soul remains, to live on earth instead.
Though chill as clay is now his shrouded brow
Nor grudge the grave the flesh it gathers now
The soul remains, to live on earth instead.
And thou that wast his friend, if e'er I said
A word in harshness, hear me disavow,
While such small wreath as I can wreathe I throw
Upon the stone that covers now his head.
A word in harshness, hear me disavow,
While such small wreath as I can wreathe I throw
Upon the stone that covers now his head.
The wintry breath of Azrael hath swept
A green leaf to the heap of bygone leaves
Where Alighieri and where Shakespeare lie.
A green leaf to the heap of bygone leaves
Where Alighieri and where Shakespeare lie.
Mourn not. Each day some brother dies unwept,
But he for whom the distant stranger grieves,
Outlives mere life; for men he doth not die.
But he for whom the distant stranger grieves,
Outlives mere life; for men he doth not die.
April 14, 1882.
| Sonnets of the Wingless Hours | |