In Memoriam A.H.H.
many worlds, so much to do,
So little done, such things to be,
How know I what had need of thee,
thou wert strong as thou wert true?
fame is quench’d that I foresaw,
The head hath miss’d an earthly wreath:
I curse not nature, no, nor death;
nothing is that errs from law.
pass; the path that each man trod
Is dim, or will be dim, with weeds:
What fame is left for human deeds
endless age? It rests with God.
hollow wraith of dying fame,
Fade wholly, while the soul exults,
And self-infolds the large results
force that would have forged a name.
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