Consolatrix
By George Sterling
To Phoebe Apperson Hearst By all the good thy hands have done, Whose time was all too brief, Hear now from us whose words are one Our word of love and grief! Greater than kings whom nations mourn, In woe a nation shares, Wert thou, inevitably born To still a myriad cares. Compassion! That celestial good Saving the world from night, How deeply hast thou understood Its beauty and its light! From out the many woeful ways Thy sympathy hath trod; From out our shared, unhappy days, Take now the way to God! And on thy brow's maternal snows, Holy with selfless years, O take our wreath of western rose, Whose dew is human tears!
The San Francisco Examiner, April 16th, 1919