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IN MEMORY OF A MUSICIAN (DIED SAN FRANCISCO, OCTBER 1878) by EDWARD ROWLAND SILL

First Line: DEAD! AND THE ECHOES DUMB
Last Line: ALL OTHERS SWEET.

DEAD! And the echoes dumb,
That thrilled our very inmost soul to hear:
And now through all the rich autumnal air,
His city's hum
Murmurs in fitful throbs, like dying beat
Of funeral drum!

Hark! 't is the voice of song --
No dirge, no requiem chant of hopeless woe,
With tramp of dull, unwilling footsteps slow:
Nay, that would wrong
The cheery life that ever was so sweet,
Tender and strong:

But waves along the shore,
That plash and sing like little children's mirth,
Whose faces he loved best of all the earth,
And winds that o'er
This lonely world still blow, never to greet
His music more --

Those waves and winds I hear,
And whispering trees, and note of happy bird,
And Nature's every mellow tone is heard,
Singing full clear
The old immortal harmonies his feet
Followed so near.

Still, Nature, still repeat
Thy purest symphonies for his pure sake,
Whose heart love's grandest victory could take
From love's defeat;
Whose life was bruised, like some sweet herb, to make
All others sweet.



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