Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/165

Rh Yes, weep for him; no more

Shall such high songs have birth;

Gone is the harp he bore

Forever from the earth.

Weep, weep, and scatter flowers

Above his precious dust;

Child of the heavenly powers—

Divine, and pure, and just.

Weep, weep—for when to-night

Shall hoot the hornèd owl,

Beneath the pale moon's light

The human ghouls will prowl.

What creatures those will throng

Within the sacred gloom,

To do our poet wrong—

To break the sealèd tomb?

Not the great world and gay

That pities not, nor halts

By thoughtless night or day,

But,—O more sordid-false!—

His trusted friend and near,

To whom his spirit moved;

The brother he held dear;

The woman that he loved.

"JOCOSERIA"

grow old before their time,

With the journey half before them;

In languid rhyme

They deplore them.