The Great War

from The Volunteer and Other Poems, an electronic edition

The Fallen Poet

NOW that the soul has left its throne

Behind your mortal eyes,

And light, and colour and sound are gone

From the body's palaces :

Still in his wood the blackbird calls,

But there is one too few to hear :

And one too few to watch the trout

Swim through the music of the weir.

And once I dreamt that you were gone,

As dust upon the wave ;

Or, as a drop in some deep well,

That none could sort or save.

But falling low between the stars,

So soon as I had such a fear,

At dusk and dawn a whisper came :

"The dead are near: the dead are near."