Ralph Waldo Emerson, comp. (1803–1882). Parnassus: An Anthology of Poetry. 1880.
Dirge: ‘He is gone—is dust’Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772–1834)
H
He, the more fortunate! yea he hath finished!
For him there is no longer any future,
His life is bright,—bright without spot it was
And cannot cease to be. No ominous hour
Knocks at his door with tidings of mishap.
Far off is he, above desire and fear;
No more submitted to the change and chance
Of the unsteady planets. O ’tis well
With him! but who knows what the coming hour
Veiled in thick darkness brings for us!
What pang is permanent with man? from the highest
As from the vilest thing of every day
He learns to wean himself; for the strong hours
Conquer him. Yet I feel what I have lost
In him. The bloom is vanished from my life.
For O! he stood beside me, like my youth,
Transformed for me the reäl to a dream,
Clothing the palpable and familiar
With golden exhalations of the dawn.
Whatever fortunes wait my future toils,
The beautiful is vanished—and returns not.