Written in memory of a fellow poet, these verses unfold in three movements. It begins with a serene, erudite figure who held back tears and sighs until love broke through, giving their inner song wings. Love, the speaker says, is both ecstatic thunder and a linnet’s soft fluting after rain—it echoes in every note they ever sang. The second part widens the lens: this poet captured humanity’s bright joys and silent scars, hanging like a wind-harp on life’s branches. Grief forged the bond; it made them love mankind and made mankind love them in return. The final section turns sacred. Those who saw Christ’s brilliance mistook him for Apollo, a god of lyric might, but the poet—a singing pilgrim—followed Christ even through love’s worst despair, recognizing that the true crown was woven with thorns. The mood is tender, mournful, and reverent, holding sorrow and a strange, glowing peace tightly together.
In Memory — Summary
I Serene and beautiful and very wise, Most erudite in curious Grecian lore, You lay and read your learned books, and bore A weight of unshed tears and silent sighs. The song within your heart could never rise Until love bade it spread its wings and soar. Nor could you look on Beauty's face before A poet's burning mouth had touched your eyes. Love is made out of ecstasy and wonder; Love is a poignant and accustomed pain. It is a burst of Heaven-shaking thunder; It is a linnet's fluting after rain. Love's voice is through your song; above and under And in each note to echo and remain.
II Because Mankind is glad and brave and young, Full of gay flames that white and scarlet glow, All joys and passions that Mankind may know By you were nobly felt and nobly sung. Because Mankind's heart every day is wrung By Fate's wild hands that twist and tear it so, Therefore you echoed Man's undying woe, A harp Aeolian on Life's branches hung. So did the ghosts of toiling children hover About the piteous portals of your mind; Your eyes, that looked on glory, could discover The angry scar to which the world was blind: And it was grief that made Mankind your lover, And it was grief that made you love Mankind.
III Before Christ left the Citadel of Light, To tread the dreadful way of human birth, His shadow sometimes fell upon the earth And those who saw it wept with joy and fright. "Thou art Apollo, than the sun more bright!" They cried. "Our music is of little worth, But thrill our blood with thy creative mirth Thou god of song, thou lord of lyric might!" O singing pilgrim! who could love and follow Your lover Christ, through even love's despair, You knew within the cypress-darkened hollow The feet that on the mountain are so fair. For it was Christ that was your own Apollo, And thorns were in the laurel on your hair.