EARLIER POEMS THRENODIA Sleeps all forgetful of its art! I loved to see the infant soul GONE, gone from us! and shall (How mighty in the weakness we see Those sibyl-leaves of destiny, Those calm eyes, nevermore? Those deep, dark eyes so warm and bright, Wherein the fortunes of the man Lay slumbering in prophetic light, In characters a child might scan? So bright, and gone forth utterly! Oh stern word-Nevermore! Of its untutored meekness!) Peep timidly from out its nest, His lips, the while, 30 The stars of those two gentle That would have soared like Deeming she needs must read But ever sported with his mother's The tongue that scarce had To bless him with their holy |