University of Virginia Library

THE POET'S GRAVE.

FIRST VERSION.

“He hath sung sweetly,” so the Lady said,
Sweet Poesy, who stood above his grave
With tears and claspèd sorrowing hands that gave
A gentle tribute to her hero dead—
“He hath sung sweetly, let the bays be shed
About the brows of one more prophet brave,
He hath sung sweetly, let a rose-wreath wave
Around the eager brain that beauty fed;
He hath sung sweetly,” and she bent, the Queen,
To press upon his lips a farewell kiss,
But started back—for—what a thing is this!
The poet's eyes to open slow are seen,
For—Beauty once attained is life I ween,
And death it is the beautiful to miss.

THE POET'S GRAVE.

SECOND VERSION.

“He hath sung sweetly,” so she said, and came,
The Lady of the bays, to where he lay
Quiet beneath the evening shadows gray,
While in the west the sun was as a flame—
“He hath sung sweetly,” said the gentle dame,
And—half a tear fell sudden on the clay,
“He hath sung sweetly, Poetry must pay
This tribute to a soul of lofty aim;”
But as she said the words, behold, a form
Most strong, most beautiful, before her stood,
The Poet, risen from his coffin-wood,
Alive, heart beating, head conceiving, warm—
For—Beauty wept for him, for whom he died,
And therefore was he present at her side.

THE POET'S GRAVE.

THIRD VERSION.

“He hath sung sweetly, he hath died for me,”
Said Beauty, bending o'er the poet dead,
“He hath sung sweetly, round my hero's head
A wreath of farewell bay-leaves let there be,
Lilies and roses likewise, in that he
Was white as well as unto passion wed,
And lastly, let a pearly tear be shed
In that I loved him—yea, I do love thee
Thou poor pale corpse.” No sooner said than lo!
Across his cheek there runs a rosy flush
As of the life returning, as the snow
At advent of the morning 'gins to blush,
For—where are Love and Beauty sideways rush
Death's waters in a horror-stricken flow.