In Memory of D. G. Rossetti

What wreath have I above thy rest to place,
What worthy song-wreath, Friend, — nay, more than
friend?
For so thou didst all other men transcend
That the pure, fiery worship of old days —
That of the boy, content to hear, to gaze —
Burned on most brightly; though as lamps none tend
The lights on other shrines had made an end.

And darkness reigned where was the festal blaze.
Far from us now thou art; and never again
Thy magic voice shall thrill me, as one thrills
When noblest music storms his heart and brain.
The sea remembers thee, — the woods, the hills,
Sunlight and moonlight, and the hurrying rills, —
And Love saith, " Surely this man leads my train!"