Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/36

8 What was it in his smile that stirred

My soul to pity! When I drew

More near it seemed as if I heard

The broken echo of a tune

Learned in some far and happy June.

His lips were parted, but unmoved

By words. He sang as dreamers do,

And not as if he heard and loved

The song he sang: I hear it now!

He stood beside the level brook,

Nor quenched his thirst, nor bathed his brow,

Nor from his back the burden shook.

He stood, and yet he did not rest;

His eyes climbed up in aimless quest,

Then close did to that mirror bow—

And, looking down, I saw in place

Of his, my own familiar face.

III—"COME TO ME YE WHO SUFFER"