On the Death of Robert Browning
He held no dream worth waking; so he said,He who stands now on death's triumphal steep,Awakened out of life wherein we sleepAnd dream of what he knows and sees, being dead.But never death for him was dark or dread;"Look forth," he bade the soul, and fear not. Weep,All ye that trust not in his truth, and keepVain memory's vision of a vanished headAs all that lives of all that once was heSave that which lightens from his word; but we,Who, seeing the sunset-colored waters roll,Yet know the sun subdued not of the sea,Nor weep nor doubt that still the spirit is whole,And life and death but shadows of the soul.
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