Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/196

186 XLII

, my Muse! for, lo, there is no end

Of singing of the winged and soaring choir,

Whose flights mount up, and, circling high and higher,

My heavenly salutations to her send.

I found her upon earth my only friend;

She fed my boyhood with thy holy fire;

She drew my manhood from the world's desire.

Oh, unto my frail state may she yet lend

Her strength, stay my faint heart, and still console

A little longer; with a poor man's bread

Succor my poverty; and pay my toll

To Charon, when to Lethe I am led!

And ever round her shine the aureole

Of my sad verses, after I am dead!