VIII.
BAYARD TAYLOR (UPON DEATH).
[_]
“More than once I have met death, but
without fear! Nor do I fear now! Without
being able to demonstrate it, I know that my
soul cannot die ... Indeed, to me the infinite
is more comprehensible than the finite!”
These words occur in a letter of Bayard
Taylor's to me, written not many weeks before
his death. They have suggested the following
sonnet:—
“Oft have I fronted Death, nor feared his might!
To me immortal, this dim Finite seems
Like some waste low-land, crossed by wandering streams
Whose clouded waves scarce catch our yearning sight:
Clearer by far, the imperial Infinite!
Though its ethereal radiance only gleams
In exaltations of majestic dreams,
Such dreams portray God's heaven of heavens aright!”
Thou blissful Faith! that on death's imminent brink
Thus much of heaven's mysterious truth hast told!
Soul-life aspires, though all the stars should sink;
Not vain our loftiest instinct's upward stress,
Nor hath the immortal hope shone clear and bold,
To quench at death, his torch in nothingness!