GLORY SHALL FOLLOW GLORY

I KEATS died—who knows?—in the wild bloom of youth, And learned all truth, That “Adonais” might be sadly sung; That through the halls of heaven, from Shelley’s tongue, That royal dirge Might thrill and surge Deathlessly young. Perhaps a poet passed That one might tell at last In this immortal song his beauty and glory, Chant his lament, For shining days soon spent, In a great glowing story. II Does Love thus go (Whither we do not know), That one may sing the grandeur of Love’s name? That one who felt his fire and his flame May stand in adoration at his pall, And in a song supreme, majestical, Voice the eternal wonder of the dead? Ere Love has fled, Silent are we before his face divine; But when the lamps are wasted, And the last cup is tasted, And strong Death sets her crown upon his head, There is a singer who must sing Love’s praise, Record his dreams and days, And keep the light forever before his shrine.