Epicedium

Like to the leaf that falls,
Like to the rose that fades,
Thou art--and still art not!
We whom this thought enthralls,
We whom this mystery shades,
Are bared before our lot!

Like to the light gone out,
Like to the sun gone down,
Thou art--and yet we feel
That something more than doubt,
And more than Nature's frown,
The Great Good must reveal.

'T is not with thankless heart,
Nor yet with covert hand,
We reach from deeps to thee:
We take our grief apart,
And with it bravely stand
Beside the voiceless sea!

O, gentle memory mine--
I fill the world with thee,
And with thy blessing sleep!
But for thy love divine
To warm the day for me,
Why should I wake or weep?