TO THE MEMORY OF SIDNEY LANIER.

Sullenly falls the rain,

Still hangs the dripping leaf,

And ah, the pain!—

The slow, dull ache of my grief,

That throbs — “In vain, in vain,—

You have garnered your sheaf!”

You have garnered your sheaf, with the tares

Therein, and unripe wheat,—

All that Death spares,

Who has come with too swift feet,

Not turning for any prayers

Nor all who entreat.

They entreated with tears. But I —

Ah me, all I can say

Is only a cry!

I had loved you many a day,

Yet never had fate drawn nigh

My way to your way.

My spirit made swift with love

Went forth to you in your place

Far off and above

Tho’ we met not face to face,

My Elder Brother, yet love

Had pierced through space!