Poems (Commelin)/In Memoriam
For works with similar titles, see In Memoriam.
IN MEMORIAM.
Once more we see the old, familiar place:
Once more we turn remembered forms to greet,
With clasp of hand, face looking into face,
Rejoice again communing here to meet.
Once more we turn remembered forms to greet,
With clasp of hand, face looking into face,
Rejoice again communing here to meet.
But list! a silence falleth on us all;
Within our midst a vacancy is there:
A darkness gathers like a funeral pall,
Around the table, with its empty chair.
Within our midst a vacancy is there:
A darkness gathers like a funeral pall,
Around the table, with its empty chair.
A slight, draped form, a sweet and thoughtful face,
So white and still, with crown of golden hair,
With gentle speech, with woman's tender grace,—
How oft we've seen her by the table there!
So white and still, with crown of golden hair,
With gentle speech, with woman's tender grace,—
How oft we've seen her by the table there!
Faithful she was, and ready aye to serve,
By pen and voice, by friendly word and true:
No critic harsh; nor ever did she swerve
From kindest courtesy to others due.
By pen and voice, by friendly word and true:
No critic harsh; nor ever did she swerve
From kindest courtesy to others due.
True friends she found within this circle here,
When she a stranger to this city came,
Friends that she valued, friends both true and dear,
Now wipe the tear-drops when they speak her name.
When she a stranger to this city came,
Friends that she valued, friends both true and dear,
Now wipe the tear-drops when they speak her name.
How we shall miss her! yet forevermore
Shall dear remembrances with us abide
Of kindly words, sweet ways, and golden store
Of thoughts refined and vision clear and wide.
Not to herself she lived when by our side,
Not to herself in dying hath she died!
Shall dear remembrances with us abide
Of kindly words, sweet ways, and golden store
Of thoughts refined and vision clear and wide.
Not to herself she lived when by our side,
Not to herself in dying hath she died!
(November, 1885. Mrs. M. C. F. Godfrey.)