Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/339

Rh He never harmed a soul! O, dull and blind

And cruel, the hand that smote, beyond belief!

Strike him? It could not be! Soon should we find

'T was but a torturing dream—our sudden grief!

Then sobs and wailings down the northern wind

Like the wild voice of shipwreck from a reef!

By false hope lulled (his courage gave us hope!)

By day, by night we watched—until unfurled

At last the word of fate! Our memories

Cherish one tender thought in their sad scope:

He, looking from the window on this world,

Found comfort in the moving green of trees.

THE CITY OF LIGHT

THE PAN-AMERICAN EXPOSITION