Your notes shall ring when mine are still,
Live on when mine the casket claim,
But let them come to weep by mine,
For pity is a part of fame.
So sweet their tears will be, that, lo!
Their watering bloom might restore
And wake my dreaming thoughts again
To dwell on earth with yours once more.
You made ecstatic flights above
And starland robbed of virgins fair
To bear the children of our brain
That you have given to our care.
And then in chilly depths you plunged
Where weirdness mingled with the groan
Of water devils to imbue
Your song with wonder or with moan.
I did not soar as high as you:
I cannot sing of realsm beyond;
And, from your hand, all travel stained,
I would not steal the bloom or frond;
But gaze on them with gladdened eye.
Just grateful for the dews that drip
From their fair foliage on my hand—
Their petals soft as woman's lip.
Your spirit braved the Artic zone
Of thought to give expression glow.
The midnight sun lends eerie charm
Unto thy song as to the floe.
From tropic climes of mind you bear
Strange fascinations that enslave
My fancy like the wind that binds
The shackle to the blue-veined wave.
Your soul explored the realms all dark,
Or fair, that makes my pulse beat high
When from your lips the story falls
In accents soft as fairy's sigh.
Sing on the song that you have learned
From siren raptured by your call
That chanted in thine ears alone
The strain with power to entrall.
Strike on the harp you stole away
From dreaming Fancy's loving arms.
The numbers that have power to lull
To rest with notes of dulcet charms.
And I shall never, never tire,
For I have waited long in vain
For song ethereal like thine
To wake joy and banish pain.
Text of this poem taken from microfilm held by Michigan State University Library, made available through the magic and generosity of interlibrary loan.