Saint Paul has said this mortal shall arise
Freed from its grossness, palpable in form,
Vital, organic, pulsing with a warm
...
I cannot think thou would'st forget me even
Amidst the mystic jubilee above,
My heart's great joy, my closely nestling dove,
...
I heard today that one, who sometime reigned
The hauty mistress of my captive will,
Had of that mortal cup which none may spill,
...
This is a sorry ending to a thing
We once called love, in our fatuity,
Boasting that nothing worthier could be,
...
She who gives all, and yet withholds her heart,
Gives nothing worthy for a man to take--
Gives as the wanton, who for lucre's sake,
...
Why should I fret the passion of this string,
Singing to ears that fain would have me mute--
I who have never found the trick to suit
...
O World, I owe thee nothing; I have had
Not even my wages from thy niggard hand,
For all I gave thee, at my God's command,
...
Yet not because the world turns coldly by,
And makes its idols out of meaner clay,
Decking their shrines with wreaths of noble bay,
...
When I review the long procession gone
Out of this being through the gates of death--
The parents, friends, the hearts that drew their breath
...
Never, dear season, shall I tire to sing
Of thee whose presence makes my torpid lyre
Glitter and sparkle through its rusted wire
...