  “Dying so young, how much he missed!” they said, While his unbreathing sleep they wept around; “If he had lived, Fame surely would have crowned With wreath of fadeless green his kingly head; The clear glance of his burning eyes had read Wisdom’s dim secrets, hoary and profound; While his life’s path would have been holy ground, Made thus by all men’s love upon it shed.” Doubtless could he have spoken for whom that rain Of teardrops fell, “How strange your sad words are!” He would have said; “In fuller measure far All that life gave to me I still retain; Love have I now which no dark longings mar, Fame void of strife, and wisdom free from pain.” |
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