Long have they slept. Their separate dust
Has mingled with a nameless mould.
Only the slower-crumbling stones
Still tell so much as may be told.
And now in shoreless fog adrift
Like some lone mariner gliding by,
I lean above the drowning graves
And wonder when I too shall lie
Where evermore the tides of night
And earth will hide my lonely rest;
And Time will bid my love forget
To read the stone upon my breast.
G. O. WARREN
BEAUTY
NOT flesh alone am I, when I can be
So swiftly caught in Beauty's shimmering
thread
Whose slender fibres, woven, held by me,
With their frail strength my following heart have
led.
Yea, not all mortal, not all death my mind,
When, watching by lone twilight waters' brim
I tremblingly decipher, as they wind,
Her deathless hieroglyphs, though strange and dim.
So for this faith, when Thou my dust shalt bring
To dust, remember well, Great Alchemist,
Yearly to change my wintry earth to spring,
That I with Beauty still may keep my tryst.
G. O. WARREN
COMRADES
WHERE are the friends that I knew in my
Maying,
In the days of my youth, in the first of my
roaming?
We were dear; we were leal; O, far we went
straying;
Now never a heart to my heart comes homing!--
Where is he now, the dark boy slender
Who taught me bare-back, stirrup and reins?
I love him; he loved me; my beautiful, tender
Tamer of horses on grass-grown plains.
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