The Passage

You whose dwelling Is the eye of the morning sun, How so dim is your glitter become. How in one moment Bowed, The sun of the living daylight. The flowers at your feet bloom. The birds soften the hills around. Yet all that you lived for, Is soon Lulled to sleep. They have gathered you . They have lain you. They have left with me your memories, Livid in the moonlight. How vain is the darkness Of your cheerless grave? How so hard for Hades to drink, Of the blood of your pen? They have bid the deep to hide you. They have sucked the marrow Of dank Africa. They have filled my cup With the drop of your blood, The blood of my blood. So I sit as a hermit, And write all that' s within you, my Hero, Who died too soon for fame.