TO THE MEMORY OF SIDNEY LANIER.

Sullenly falls the rain, Still hangs the dripping leaf, And ah, the pain!— The slow, dull ache of my grief, That throbs—"In vain, in vain,— You have garnered your sheaf!"

You have garnered your sheaf, with the tares Therein, and unripe wheat,— All that Death spares, Who has come with too swift feet, Not turning for any prayers Nor all who entreat.

They entreated with tears. But I— Ah me, all I can say Is only a cry! I had loved you many a day, Yet never had fate drawn nigh My way to your way.

My spirit made swift with love Went forth to you in your place Far off and above Tho' we met not face to face, My Elder Brother, yet love Had pierced through space!