An Elegy

By George Sterling

H. M. M.

Thank God for tears, for he is gone—
    Another shadow taken hence;
And now no touch of him is on
    The estranging harp-strings of the sense.

He who was but a thought that ceast
    Endures no save in our own—
Claustral, content, assorted, releast —
    His brother-dead alone as lone.

To memory of us and him
    Come not our deeds of gentleness:
Plaudit and gift lie far and dim;
    Reproofs retain their old excess.

Old ardors lose their forfeit fire.
    Remains, to us who stood so blind,
Of all desires a last desire:
    The wish that we had been more kind.

But One hath shut a secret door
    On one who never shall return,
Tho time the vernal stars restore.
    And earth the blossoms for his urn.
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