Classic Poem

O CTOBER 1892

When first the clamorous poets sang, and when
Acclaim'd by hosts of men,
While music filled with silver light and shade
Cloister and colonnade,
With pomp of catafalque and laureate crown
We laid him softly down
To sleep until the world's last morning come,
My stricken lips were dumb.

But now that all is silent round his grave,
Dim, from the glimmering nave,
And in the shadow thrown by plinth and bust
His garlands gather dust,
Here, in the hush, I feel the chords unstrung
Tighten in throat and tongue;
At last, at last, the voice comes back, — I raise
A whisper in his praise.

Thanks for the music that through thirty years
Quicken'd my pulse to tears,
The eye that colour'd Nature, the wise hand,
The brain that nobly plann'd;
Thanks for the anguish of the perfect phrase,
Tingling the blood ablaze!
Organ of God, with multitudinous swell
Of various tone, farewell!