THE MASTERS

Two with great hearts, deeply you proved them.

Laughing you loved them, childlike you said,

“Oh, but this is the part —!” Almost I reproved them

Drawing you from me, minds long dead.

Yet forever your voice, wraith that was rapture!

What great-souled spaces the while you read

Joy — pain — mirth — all I would capture,—

Dickens and Browning — your bended head...

Heaven of lamplight I long for lonely

Where all the folk of their fancy tread;

Three small faces, and mine,— and only

Dickens and Browning — your bended head!