Page:The poems of Richard Watson Gilder, Gilder, 1908.djvu/427

Rh Knowledge of that high nature; who could drink

At her fresh spirit's fountain, year by year—

What were the past without her? And her dear

Image and memory—did they, too, sink

Into the abyss?—Herself was yours, and here

Still lives remembrance; a bright, golden link

'Twixt this, the visible world, and the unknown

Toward which we journey—where she now doth live,

Close to the Eternal One. Make thou no moan;

What else may pass, this twofold gift endures;

Give thanks, and mourn not, then.—But, O, forgive!

How can I chide who mix my tears with yours?

THE POET'S SLEEP

WHERE SPRING BEGAN