O. M. B.

As one who strives from some fast steamer’s side
To note amid the backward-spinning foam
And keep in view some separate wreath therefrom,
That cheats him even the while he views it glide
(Merging in other foam-tracks stretching wide),
So strive we to keep clear that day our home
First saw you riven—a memory thence to roam,
A shatter’d blossom on the eternal tide!
O broken promises that show’d so fair!
O morning sun of wit set in despair!
O brows made smooth as with the Muse’s chrism!
O Oliver! ourselves Death’s cataclysm
Must soon o’ertake—but not in vain—not where
Some vestige of your thought outspans the abysm!