Thou canst not give it. Grace enough is ours To know that pain for him has fallen on rest. The worst we know was his on earth: the best, We fain would think,--a thought no fear deflowers-- Is his, released from bonds of rayless hours. Ah, turn our hearts from longing; bid our quest Cease, as content with failure. This thy guest Sleeps, vexed no more of time's imperious powers, The spirit of hope, the spirit of change and loss, The spirit of love bowed down beneath his cross, Nor now needs comfort from the strength of song. Love, should he wake, bears now no cross for him: Dead hope, whose living eyes like his were dim, Has brought forth better comfort, strength more strong. VI PSYCHAGOGOS As Greece of old acclaimed thee God and man, So, Death, our tongue acclaims thee: yet wast thou Hailed of old Rome as Romans hail thee now, Goddess and woman. Since the sands first ran That told when first man's life and death began, The shadows round thy blind ambiguous brow Have mocked the votive plea, the pleading vow That sought thee sorrowing, fain to bless or ban. But stronger than a father's love is thine, And gentler than a mother's. Lord and God, Thy staff is surer than the wizard rod That Hermes bare as priest before thy shrine And herald of thy mercies. We could give Nought, when we would have given: thou bidst him live. VII THE LAST WORD So many a dream and hope that went and came, So many and sweet, that love thought like to be, Of hours as bright and soft as those for me That made our hearts for song's sweet love the same, Lie now struck dead, that hope seems one with shame. O Death, thy name is Love: we know it, and see The witness: yet for very love's sake we Can hardly bear to mix with thine his name. Philip, how hard it is to bid thee part Thou knowest, if aught thou knowest where now thou art Of us that loved and love thee. None may tell What none but knows--how hard it is to say The word that seals up sorrow, darkens day, And bids fare forth the soul it bids farewell. IN MEMORY OF AURELIO SAFFI The wider world of men that is not ours Receives a soul whose life on earth was light. Though darkness close the date of human hours, Love holds the spirit and sense of life in sight, That may not, even though death bid fly, take flight. Faith, love, and hope fulfilled with memory, see As clear and dear as life could bid it be The present soul that is and is not he.