To J. S.

More softly round the open wold,

And gently comes the world to those

      That are cast in gentle mould.

Or else I had not dared to flow

In these words toward you, and invade

      Even with a verse your holy woe.

Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed,

Fall into shadow, soonest lost:

      Those we love first are taken first.

He lends us; but, when love is grown

To ripeness, that on which it throve

      Falls off, and love is left alone.

In grief I am not all unlearn'd;

Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass;

      One went, who never hath return'd.

Once more. Two years his chair is seen

Empty before us. That was he

      Without whose life I had not been.

Rose with you thro' a little arc

Of heaven, nor having wander'd far

      Shot on the sudden into dark.

I honour and his living worth:

A man more pure and bold and just

      Was never born into the earth.

Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep.

Great Nature is more wise than I:

      I will not tell you not to weep.

Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain,

I will not even preach to you,

      "Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain."

She loveth her own anguish deep

More than much pleasure. Let her will

      Be done—to weep or not to weep.

Of Death is blown in every wind;"

For that is not a common chance

      That takes away a noble mind.

In all our hearts, as mournful light

That broods above the fallen sun,

      And dwells in heaven half the night.

Cast down her eyes, and in her throat

Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear

      Dropt on my tablets as I wrote.

How should I soothe you anyway,

Who miss the brother of your youth?

      Yet something I did wish to say:

Both are my friends, and my true breast

Bleedeth for both; yet it may be

      That only silence suiteth best.

Grief more. 'Twere better I should cease;

Although myself could almost take

      The place of him that sleeps in peace.

Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,

While the stars burn, the moons increase,

      And the great ages onward roll.

Nothing comes to thee new or strange.

Sleep full of rest from head to feet;

      Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.