His face is growing sharp and thin.
Alack! our friend is gone.

Close up his eyes: : tie up

his chin :

Step from the corpse, and let him in
That standeth there alone,

And waiteth at the door.

There's a new foot on the floor, my friend,
And a new face at the door, my friend,
A new face at the door.

TO J. S.

THE wind, that beats the mountain, blows
More softly round the open wold,
And gently comes the world to those
That are cast in gentle mould.

And me this knowledge bolder made,
Or else I had not dared to flow
In these words toward you, and invade
Even with a verse your holy woe.

'Tis strange that those we lean on most,

Those in whose laps our limbs are nursed,

Fall into shadow, soonest lost:

Those we love first are taken first.

God gives us love. Something to love
He lends us; but, when love is grown
To ripeness, that on which it throve
Falls off, and love is left alone.

This is the curse of time. Alas!
In grief I am not all unlearn'd;

Once thro' mine own doors Death did pass ;
One went, who never hath return'd.

He will not smile-not speak to me

Once more. Two years his chair is seen

Empty before us. That was he

Without whose life I had not been.

Your loss is rarer; for this star

Rose with you thro' a little arc Of heaven, nor having wander'd far Shot on the sudden into dark.

I knew your brother: his mute dust
I honour and his living worth :
A man more pure and bold and just
Was never born into the earth.

I have not look'd upon you nigh,

Since that dear soul hath fall'n asleep.

Great Nature is more wise than I:
I will not tell you not to weep.

And tho' mine own eyes fill with dew, Drawn from the spirit thro' the brain, I will not even preach to you,

'Weep, weeping dulls the inward pain.'

Let Grief be her own mistress still.
She loveth her own anguish deep
More than much pleasure. Let her will
Be done to weep or not to weep.

I will not say, 'God's ordinance

Of Death is blown in every wind';
For that is not a common chance
That takes away a noble mind.

His memory long will live alone

In all our hearts, as mournful light That broods above the fallen sun,

And dwells in heaven half the night.

Vain solace! Memory standing near
Cast down her eyes, and in her throat
Her voice seem'd distant, and a tear
Dropt on the letters as I wrote.

I wrote I know not what.

In truth,

How should I soothe you anyway,

Who miss the brother of your youth?
Yet something I did wish to say:

For he too was a friend to me:

Both are my friends, and my true breast Bleedeth for both; yet it may be

That only silence suiteth best.

Words weaker than your grief would make
Grief more. "Twere better I should cease
Although myself could almost take

The place of him that sleeps in

peace.

Sleep sweetly, tender heart, in peace :
Sleep, holy spirit, blessed soul,
While the stars burn, the moons increase,
And the great ages onward roll.

Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.
Nothing comes to thee new or strange.

Sleepjfull of rest from head to feet;

Lie still, dry dust, secure of change.

ON A MOURNER

I

NATURE, SO far as in her lies,

Imitates God, and turns her face
To every land beneath the skies,

Counts nothing that she meets with base,
But lives and loves in every place;

II

Fills out the homely quickset-screens,
And makes the purple lilac ripe,
Steps from her airy hill, and greens

The swamp, where humm'd the dropping snipe,

With moss and braided marish-pipe ;

III

And on thy heart a finger lays,
Saying, Beat quicker, for the time
Is pleasant, and the woods and ways
Are pleasant, and the beech and lime
Put forth and feel a gladder clime.'

IV

And murmurs of a deeper voice,
Going before to some far shrine,
Teach that sick heart the stronger choice,
Till all thy life one way incline
With one wide Will that closes thine.

V

And when the zoning eve has died

Where yon dark valleys wind forlorn,

Come Hope and Memory, spouse and bride,