TO KNOLE

Thy mighty shadow in the garden's dip!

To others dormant, but to me awake;

I saw a window in the moonlight shake,

And traced the angle of the gable's lip,

And knew thy soul, benign and grave and mild,

Towards me, morsel of morality,

And grieving at the parting soon to be,

A patriarch about to lose a child.

For many come and soon their tale is told,

And thou remainest, dimly feeling pain,

Aware the time draws near to don again

The sober mourning of the very old.