TRANSFIGURATION

But half a man's days — and his days were nights.

What hearts were ours who loved him, should we pray

That night would yield him back to darkling day,

Sweet death that soothes, to life that spoils and smites?

For now, perchance, life lovelier than the light's

That shed no comfort on his weary way

Shows him what none may dream to see or say

Ere yet the soul may scale those topless heights

Where death lies dead, and triumph. Haply there

Already may his kindling eyesight find

Faces of friends — no face than his more fair —

And first among them found of all his kind

Milton, with crowns from Eden on his hair,

And eyes that meet a brother's now not blind.