Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/241

Rh Himself as one of Shakespeare's men? Are maids

And queens he wooed, the kings he was, or knew

Upon the tragic stage, are these the shades

That now his visionary hours pursue,

Attendant on his passing? Listen near!

What breathed murmurs 'scape those pallid lips

To which the nations hearkened, ere the eclipse

Of all that brightness? Now lean close and hear;

Ah, see that look, sweeter than when he smiled

Upon the applauding world, while she draws near

And hears a dear voice whisper: "Child, my Child!"

AN AUTUMN DIRGE

(E. F. H.)

I

my heart, sad song, O ease my heart!

In all this autumn pageantry no part

Hath sorrow! Woods, and fields, and meadows glow

With jeweled colors. All alone I go

Amid the poignant beauty of the year,

Too heavy-hearted for one easeful tear.

For she who loved this autumn splendor,

These flaming marsh-flowers, oak-leaves rich and tender,—

And who in loving all, made all to me more dear,—

No more is here;

No more, no more is here!

Sad song, O, bring some thought

With music from some happy memory caught!

No light for me in all the lovely day

Those eyes being shut that first did lead the way

'Neath these great pines whose green vault hides the sky,

And down the rock-strewn shore where the white sea-birds cry!