To Arthur O'Shaughnessy

Again returns this day, and still, my friend,
I listen for a step that comes not near,
And hearken for a voice I may not hear
Save in my dreams, where many memories blend.
Two years have passed, and still the days extend,
Void day on day. He, too, has gone away
Who loved thy lyric work; his praise a bay
For which all songs most gladly might contend.

April, that came and found him with us yet.
And took him hence, makes sad the heart of Spring,
And January days shall not forget
That then it was thy sweet lips ceased to sing,
And we who loved thee, knew our feet were set
In paths where thine were no more journeying.