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