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Threnody
The Sisters' Tragedy
I
Upon your hearse this flower I lay.
Brief be your sleep!
You shall be known
When lesser men have had their day:
Fame
blossoms where true seed is sown,
Or soon or late, let Time wrong
what it may.
II
Unvext by any dream of fame,
You smiled, and bade the world
pass by:
But I--I turned, and saw a name
Shaping itself
against the sky--
White star that rose amid the battle's
flame!
III
Brief be your sleep, for I would see
Your laurels--ah, how
trivial now
To him must earthly laurel be
Who wears the
amaranth on his brow!
How vain the voices of mortality!
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