Ah, and the shattered column
crowned with the poet's wreath.
Who, who keeps silent and solemn
his passing place beneath?
~This was a poet that loved God's breath;
his life was a passionate quest;
he looked down deep in the wells of death,
and now he is taking his rest.~
To A. L. Gordon
In night-long days, in aeons
where all Time's nights are one;
where life and death sing paeans
as of Greeks and Galileans,
never begun or done;
where fate, the slow swooping condor,
comes glooming all the sky --
as you have pondered I ponder,
as you have wandered I wander,
as you have died, shall I die?
Love and Death
Death? is it death you give? So be it! O Death,
thou hast been long my friend, and now thy pale
cool cheek shall have my kiss, while the faint breath
expires on thy still lips, O lovely Death!
Come then, loose hands, fair Life, without a wail!
We've had good hours together, and you were sweet
what time love whispered with the nightingale,
tho' ever your music by the lark's would fail.
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