From One to Whom He Was Kind
By Miriam Allen DeFord
From a far planet in some alien sky,
He, prophet of the stars, beholding now
This small unhappy earth go speeding by,
Might happily murmur: "There I lived. My brow
They wreathed with laurel, subtly intertwined
With deadly nightshade and unhappy rue.
There lay no refuge-harbor for a mind
Set on strange dreams, and gods they never knew.
But let them be: so that my heart was tender
Always and always to each living thing,
What does it matter that too lat they render
Unneeded praise, who plucked from friendship's wing
The argent feathers that, but for their taking,
Might still have borne me up above life's burden?
I am away now where new dawns are breaking,
And men unwitting gave me death for guerdon."
Sad consolation, that can make less lonely
The empty place he left to memory's end!—
He, to disparage whom one could say only,
"He was too good, too very good, a friend!"
Overland Monthly and Out West Magazine, December 1927, Volume LXXXV, Number 12, pg 365.