Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By Frances SargentOsgood

278 On a Dead Poet

THE HAND that swept the sounding lyre

With more than mortal skill,

The lightning eye, the heart of fire,

The fervent lip are still!

No more, in rapture or in woe,

With melody to thrill,

Ah, nevermore!

But angel hands shall bring him balm

For every grief he knew,

And Heaven’s soft harps his soul shall calm

With music sweet and true,

And teach to him the holy charm

Of Israfel anew,

Forevermore!

Love’s silver lyre he played so well

Lies shattered on his tomb,

But still in air its music-spell

Floats on through light and gloom;

And in the hearts where soft they fell,

His words of beauty bloom

Forevermore!