Page:Poems (IA poemstennalfr00tennrich).pdf/172

 Your loss is rarer; for this star ⁠Rose with you thro' a little arc Of heaven, nor having wandered far, ⁠Shot on the sudden into dark.

I knew your brother: his mute dust ⁠I honour and his living worth: A man more pure and bold and just ⁠Was never born into the earth.

I have not looked upon you nigh, ⁠Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep. Great Nature is more wise than I: ⁠I will not tell you not to weep.

And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew, ⁠Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, I will not even preach to you, ⁠"Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain."