Iii: A Youth Uprising Poem by Alexander Anderson

A youth uprising with a pale, sweet face,
Fraught with intensest wonder, with the Muse
For his most passionate mistress, whose rich dues
He paid with all the eloquence and grace
Of a most boyish genius, wanting only
A few short years to ripen, and to be
A name round which an immortality
Might wreathe its light. But Death can make all lonely
The temple of the higher gifts, and sow
Around this life a silence. But the thought,
The eloquence, the work can own him not.
And so he stands to us in all the glow
Of his own Endymion, a sweet breath
That speaks for ever, though all else be death.