Via Sacra
Slowly along the crowded street I go,Marking with reverent look each passer's face,
Seeking, and not in vain, in each to trace
That primal soul whereof he is the show.
For here still move, by many eyes unseen,
The blessed gods that erst Olympus kept;
Through every guise these lofty forms serene
Declare the all-holding Life hath never slept;
But known each thrill that in man's heart hath been,
And every tear that his sad eyes have wept;
Alas for us! the heavenly visitants-
We greet them still as most unwelcome guests,
Answering their smile with hateful looks askance,
Their sacred speech with foolish, bitter jests:
But oh! what is it to imperial Jove
That this poor world refuses all his love?
To R. B.1
Beloved friend!
they say that thou are dead,Nor shall our asking eyes behold thee more,
Save in the company of the fair and dread,
Along the radiant and immortal shore,
Whither thy face was turned for evermore,
Thou wert a pilgrim towards the True and Real,
Never forgetful of that infinite goal;
Salient, electrical, thy weariless soul,
To every faintest vision always leal,
Ever midst those phantoms made its world ideal.
And so thou hast a most perennial fame,
Though from the earth thy name should perish quite:
When the dear sun sinks golden whence he came,
The gloom, else cheerless, hath not lost his light;
So in our lives impulses born of thine,
Like fireside stars across the night shall shine.
