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A VISION OF POETS.
195
"Yea, he called softly through the room
(His voice was weak yet tender)—'Come,'
He said, 'come nearer! Let the bloom

"'Of life grow over, undenied,
This bridge of Death, which is not wide—
I shall be soon at the other side.

"'Come, kiss me!' So the one in truth
Who loved him best—in love, not ruth,
Bowed down and kissed him mouth to mouth.

"And, in that kiss of Love, was won
Life's manumission! All was done—
The mouth that kissed last, kissed alone?

"But in the former, confluent kiss,
The same was sealed, I think, by His,
To words of truth and uprightness."

The child's voice trembled—his lips shook,
Like a rose leaning o'er a brook,
Which vibrates, though it is not struck.

"And who," I asked, a little moved,
Yet curious-eyed, "was this that loved
And kissed him last, as it behoved?"

"I," softly said the child; and then,
"I," said he louder, once again.
"His son,—my rank is among men.

"And now that men exalt his name,
I come to gather palms with them,
That holy Love may hallow Fame.

"He did not die alone; nor should
His memory live so, 'mid these rude
World-praisers—a worse solitude.

"Me, a voice calleth to that tomb
Where these are strewing branch and bloom,
Saying, come nearer!—and I come.