Page:The Happy Marriage and Other Poems.pdf/87

 Color and shape, That lives, that lives, that does endure; not strange, Not utterly dissolved, not less nor more, Nor lonely imaging,— Some coin of beauty's buried gold to escape Earth and the secret thieving of the spring.

O Death, not all, not all his beauty's strength, His dark crowned head, His body's shining length Of subtle gracefulness, is shattered, dead, Dead and forever lost. I see him lie, a naked swimmer tossed High on the pallid sands, With all the tawny summer crowning him, His broad brown hands Cupped to the flooding sun; thigh, shoulder, throat,