Poems (Piatt)/Volume 1/A Dead Man's Friends
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A DEAD MAN'S FRIENDS.[IN A HOUSE AT WASHINGTON.]
Gathered from many lands,
A company still and strange,
In the shadow of velvet and oak—
Not one to another spoke;
With faces that did not change,
Weird with the night and dim,
They were looking their last on him.
A company still and strange,
In the shadow of velvet and oak—
Not one to another spoke;
With faces that did not change,
Weird with the night and dim,
They were looking their last on him.
If ever men were wise,
If ever women were fair,
If ever glory was dust
In a world of moth and rust,
Why, this and these were there;—
Guests of the great, ah, me,
How cold is your courtesy!
If ever women were fair,
If ever glory was dust
In a world of moth and rust,
Why, this and these were there;—
Guests of the great, ah, me,
How cold is your courtesy!
Does the loveliest lady of all
Drop Titian's light from her hair,
Down into his darkened eyes,—
His, who in his coffin lies?
Does that crouching Venus care
That he must forget the charm
Of her broken beautiful arm?
Drop Titian's light from her hair,
Down into his darkened eyes,—
His, who in his coffin lies?
Does that crouching Venus care
That he must forget the charm
Of her broken beautiful arm?
Yet these were the dead man's friends,—
Wooed in his passionate youth,
And won when his head was grey;
Look at them close, I pray.
Ah, these he has loved, in sooth,
Yet among them all, I fear,
Is nothing so sweet as—a tear!
Wooed in his passionate youth,
And won when his head was grey;
Look at them close, I pray.
Ah, these he has loved, in sooth,
Yet among them all, I fear,
Is nothing so sweet as—a tear!