A Dead Friend

I.     Gone, O gentle heart and true,     Friend of hopes foregone,     Hopes and hopeful days with you     Gone?     Days of old that shone     Saw what none shall see anew,     When we gazed thereon.     Soul as clear as sunlit dew,     Why so soon pass on,     Forth from all we loved and knew     Gone? II.     Friend of many a season fled,     What may sorrow send     Toward thee now from lips that said     'Friend'?     Sighs and songs to blend     Praise with pain uncomforted     Though the praise ascend?     Darkness hides no dearer head:     Why should darkness end     Day so soon, O dear and dead     Friend? III.     Dear in death, thou hast thy part     Yet in life, to cheer     Hearts that held thy gentle heart     Dear.     Time and chance may sear     Hope with grief, and death may part     Hand from hand's clasp here:     Memory, blind with tears that start,     Sees through every tear     All that made thee, as thou art,     Dear. IV.     True and tender, single-souled,     What should memory do     Weeping o'er the trust we hold     True?     Known and loved of few,     But of these, though small their fold,     Loved how well were you!     Change, that makes of new things old,     Leaves one old thing new;     Love which promised truth, and told     True. V.     Kind as heaven, while earth's control     Still had leave to bind     Thee, thy heart was toward man's whole     Kind.     Thee no shadows blind     Now:    the change of hours that roll     Leaves thy sleep behind.     Love, that hears thy death-bell toll     Yet, may call to mind     Scarce a soul as thy sweet soul     Kind. VI.     How should life, O friend, forget     Death, whose guest art thou?     Faith responds to love's regret,     How?     Still, for us that bow     Sorrowing, still, though life be set,     Shines thy bright mild brow.     Yea, though death and thou be met,     Love may find thee now     Still, albeit we know not yet     How. VII.     Past as music fades, that shone     While its life might last;     As a song-bird's shadow flown     Past!     Death's reverberate blast     Now for music's lord has blown     Whom thy love held fast.     Dead thy king, and void his throne:     Yet for grief at last     Love makes music of his own     Past.