Classic Poem

None die but the forgotten! — The twin soul
Makes league with an eternal memory,
Whose voice is sleepless, and forever cries,
Through the still watches of the lonely night,
A word that is a spell! — This, when he hears,
Sends the survivor forth! — One only path
He takes, — and at one only altar bends, —
The grave of the beloved one: — a sad joy
Is in his desolate heart; and, stooping down,
With eyes, that, ever-dropping with their tears,
Still blind him to the solemn toil he takes, —
He writes upon the grave — he writes in flowers,
The well-known name; and thus, in death's despite,
Hallows the loved one into life! — What death
So powerful, as can trench upon the fame,
Which grows in true affections? — which springs up,
In greenest gardens of the memory,
Love planting ever his consoling flowers,
And bending gratitude, and weeping faith,
Nursing and tending with devoted watch, —
So that no noxious breath, nor wind, nor blight,
Shall over-pass the consecrated place,
Or rend its blooming tokens; — which, thus kept,
Are trophies, — proudest trophies — that declare
Love's empire over all; — a green amidst
Most cheerless sands; — a marble on the waste;
A bird of light, that, rising from the tomb,
Still leaves it vacant, — yet forever soars
From the same spot; pure emblem of the truth,
That, born of heaven, and with a wing that still
Seeks evermore its home, as if for food,
In the high place of its pure origin, —
Must still return to earth in sympathy,
And share the suffering, and denied to die,
Save, still undying, the sweet memories
Of him it could not save! —