Walt Whitman (In the Library)

ONE handshake, Walt! while we, thy little band
Of lovers, take our last long look at thee —
One handshake, and one kiss upon the hand
Thou didst outreach to bless Humanity!

The dear, kind hand is cold, the grave sweet eyes
Are closed in slumber, as thou liest there.
We shed no tears, but watch in sad surmise
The face still smiling thro' the good grey hair!

No tears for thee! Tears rather, tears of shame,
For those who saw that face yet turn'd away;
Yet even these, too, didst thou love and claim
As brethren, tho' they frown'd and would not stay.

And so, dear Walt, thine Elder Brother passed,
Unknown, unblest, with open hand like thine —
Till lo! the open Sepulchre at last,
The watching angels, and the Voice
Divine!

God bless thee, Walt! Even Death may never seize
Thy gifts of goodness in no market priced —
The wisdom and the charm of Socrates,
Touch'd with some gentle glory of the Christ!

So long /—We seem to hear thy voice again,
Tender and low, and yet so deep and strong!

Yes, we will wait, in gladness not in pain,
The coming of thy Prophecy. ( ' So long /')