HERE lies one, who, hating strife,
Kept to a peaceful and private life.
Rare gifts were his to share; but none
Will keep him from oblivion.
It was his weakness, and his grace,
To choose the lower, lesser place;
There, if he shone — for a natural wealth —
Like glowworm ‘twas — as if by stealth.
Men there are many, well-called great,
Who win, of right, as rich a state.
He shunned that fiercer light, lest he
Should lose the quiet of privacy.
Even a lift of the eyelid proved
How much he valued what lie loved.
There peered from his hazed, faded eyes
A self by solitude made wise;
As if within one mind may lie
All the soul needs for company;
And having that in safety there,
Finds its reflection everywhere.
Heart’s tempests must have waxed and waned;
Serener deeps than these remained;
Full tides, that silent well, may be
Mark of no less profound a sea.
Age proved his blessing, since it. brought
What, half-unwitting, he had sought
Life long; and found him reconciled
To die, as he had lived, a child:
He had come full circle. Now he is gone.
Stranger, respect his all: this stone.