But here in town,
With God's world all shut out,
Save the leaden frown

Of the sky, a slant of rain,
And a straggling star,
Such memories remain
The wonders they are.

Once at the Isles of Shoals,
And it was June . . .
Now hear me dote! He strolls
Across my noon,

Like the sun that day, where sleeps
My soul; his gaze
Goes glimmering down my deeps
Of yesterdays,

Searching and searching, till
Its light consumes
The reluctant shapes that fill
Those purple glooms.

Let others applaud, defame,
And the noise die down;
His voice saying your name,
Is enough renown.

Too patient pitiful,