Chapter VII

Two candles place I at her feet,
Two candles at her head:
Remembrance and Oblivion
Enfold my lonely dead.

ROSY MILLER

I do not ever remember having seen Rosy Miller;
I never met her;
Yet lose her I never can.
One night at dusk she came down a hill with me,
And the stars glowed
And all the college buildings were laced with window lights,
And beyond them were the dark hills.

It was the speech of a friend that made her live for me--
She was living then--,
Rosy Miller, who gave and gave,
Who, a child still, had learned the whole meaning of life,
Who asked nothing,
Who never held a hand out mendicant to others.

That was three years ago, that hour at dusk,
And now they say she is dead.
But that is a mistake:
Even for me who never knew her she still lives.

HIS NAME

He loved men with a great soul’s deepest love;
He saw in them truth, hope, the very flame
Of constancy. And then alone
He died. Men have forgot his name.

MIST