  in The London Times THOU art no longer here, No longer shall we see thy face. But, in that other place, Where may be heard The roar of the world rushing down the wantways of the stars; And the silver bars Of heaven’s gate Shine soft and clear: Thou mayest wait. No longer shall we see Thee walking in the crowded streets, But where the ocean of the Future beats Against the flood-gates of the Present, swirling to this earth, Another birth Thou mayest have; Another Arcady May thee receive. Not here thou dost remain, Thou art gone far away, The hours ever dance in ring, a silvern-footed throng, While time looks on, And seraphs stand Choiring an endless strain On either hand. Thou canst return no more; Not as the happy time of spring Comes after winter burgeoning On wood and wold in folds of living green, for thou art dead. Our tears we shed In vain, for thou Dost pace another shore, Untroubled now. |
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