In Memory of Walter Savage Landor

Back to the flower-town, side by side,     The bright months bring, New-born, the bridegroom and the bride,     Freedom and spring. The sweet land laughs from sea to sea,     Filled full of sun; All things come back to her, being free;     All things but one. In many a tender wheaten plot     Flowers that were dead Live, and old suns revive; but not     That holier head. By this white wandering waste of sea,     Far north, I hear One face shall never turn to me     As once this year: Shall never smile and turn and rest     On mine as there, Nor one most sacred hand be prest     Upon my hair. I came as one whose thoughts half linger,     Half run before; The youngest to the oldest singer     That England bore. I found him whom I shall not find     Till all grief end, In holiest age our mightiest mind,     Father and friend. But thou, if anything endure,     If hope there be, O spirit that man’s life left pure,     Man’s death set free. Not with disdain of days that were     Look earthward now; Let dreams revive the reverend hair,     The imperial brow; Come back in sleep, for in the life     Where thou art not We find none like thee. Time and strife     And the world’s lot Move thee no more; but love at least     And reverent heart May move thee, royal and releast     Soul, as thou art. And thou, his Florence, to thy trust     Receive and keep, Keep safe his dedicated dust,     His sacred sleep. So shall thy lovers, come from far,     Mix with thy name As morning-star with evening-star     His faultless fame.