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 mans life left pure,     Mans 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 worlds lot     Move thee no more; but love at least     And reverent heart     May move thee, royal and released,     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.