Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ABSENT GUEST, by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON

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THE ABSENT GUEST, by             Poet's Biography
First Line: Go, wreathe his chair with laurel
Last Line: He is our absent host.
Subject(s): Mcdowell, Edward (1860-1908)

Go, wreathe his chair with laurel,
And brim his glass with wine,
And let one silent place proclaim
The presence we divine.

To sorrow for so pure a soul,
So warm a heart as he,
Makes never discord at a feast
Given to Harmony.

The dream he dreamed by starlight
Is not less fair by sun:
That Beauty may to Beauty join
Till all the arts be one;

That each who serves the Muses,
And weaves the magic thrall
With words, or sounds, or speechless earth,
May brother be to all.

On this wide hearth he lighted
A new-inspiring flame,
Whose torch to kindling torch for aye
Shall whisper of his fame.

Join hands for that Ideal
He loved and worshiped most...
Our absent guest, I said? . . . Ah, no!
He is our absent host.

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