A DEDICATION.

Dear, near and true — no truer Time himself

Can prove you, tho’ he make you evermore

Dearer and nearer, as the rapid of life

Shoots to the fall — take this, and pray that he,

Who wrote it, honoring your sweet faith in him,

May trust himself; and spite of praise and scorn,

As one who feels the immeasurable world,

Attain the wise indifference of the wise;

And after Autumn past — if left to pass

His autumn into seeming-leafless days —

Draw toward the long frost and longest night,

Wearing his wisdom lightly, like the fruit

Which in our winter woodland looks a flower.