Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/300

272 Yet Beauty was his passion, and the art

To paint it—that it might not all depart.

He loved the gentlest things; there was a grace

In his sad look surpassing many a face

More beautiful. Ah, back, ye bitter tears!

He, lover of light and gladness, all these years

Fighting twin demons of keen pain and doom;

He, of such humor that the very tomb

Might snatch a brightness from his presence there!

But no; not bright the tomb. We, in despair,

Seek through the world again a charm like this—

That which our friend has taken we shall forever miss.

"THROUGH ALL THE CUNNING AGES"

all the cunning ages

Mankind hath made for man

From out his loves and rages

A god to bless and ban.

When he his foe despises

This god he calls to curse;

And would he win earth's prizes

His praise doth man rehearse.

So, when he craves the guerdon

Of others' land and pelf,

He flings the blame and burden

On this shadow of himself.

If, spite of all their ranting,

There reigns a God indeed,

How well He hates the canting

That framed their sordid creed!