Away

I cannot say, and I will not say     That he is dead. He is just away!     With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand     He has wandered into an unknown land,     And left us dreaming how very fair     It needs must be, since he lingers there.     And you - O you, who the wildest yearn     For the old-time step and the glad return,     Think of him faring on, as dear     In the love of There as the love of Here;     And loyal still, as he gave the blows     Of his warrior-strength to his country's foes.     Mild and gentle, as he was brave,     When the sweetest love of his life he gave     To simple things: Where the violets grew     Blue as the eyes they were likened to,     The touches of his hands have strayed     As reverently as his lips have prayed:     When the little brown thrush that harshly chirred     Was dear to him as the mocking-bird;     And he pitied as much as a man in pain     A writhing honey-bee wet with rain.     Think of him still as the same, I say:     He is not dead - he is just away!