DILEXIT MULTUM.
Could I portray thy face, illuminateWith the high glory that it had for me,Or deathless carve, in marble's sainted state,The record of thy vanished majesty;
Or could I, like the grief-inspired of old,Dream out some Minster of divinest form,Arch within arch, to cherish and enfoldLove's passing holiness from waste or worm;
Or could I rear towards heav'n a life of good,Whose date were from our meeting, faultless, strong,With every thought sublimed and prayer-endued,The annals of my days should praise thee long.
But gifts like these I have not, to embalm,Enshrine, englorify thy memory;Only, from stammering lips, the fitful psalmWhose music wavers, when it speaks of thee.
