TO OUR BELOVED.
THE hearts you knew in those unchallenged years,
The hearts that loved you—softer grown with tears,
O let them be your living bed,
Come home to us, beloved dead!
We will not mourn or praise you over much,
We only ask with wistful lips to touch
Your garment's hem, and lay sweet boughs
Grown of heart's pride upon your brows.
We only ask that with you we may die
To all that you have died to, putting by
The aims that once set life ablaze,
The cares that vexed those restless days.
For something of us perished at your side,
The lighter self you knew died when you died;
Though we are called by no new name,
We, too, have passed that cleansing flame,—
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