100 ONE THOUSAND FAMOUS THINGS
A Brother It mi embers His Sister
To the. Pure, Soul of My
SISTElt IIEXKIETTE
Who 'Died at Bybhh\ 24th of ticptrmber, 1S61
Do you remember* in the bosom of God where you are now at
rest, those long days at Ghazir, where, alone with you, I wrote
these pages which drew their inspiration from the places we had
visited together ?
Silting silently by my side you read over every page, and copied
it as soon as written ; al our feet, stretched flu* sea, the villages, the
ravines, and the mountains. When the overpowering light of day
had given place to the unnumbered army of the stars your thoughtful
doubts led me back to the sublime object of our common thoughts.
Cue day you told me that you would love this book, because it
had been written with you, and also because ii was after your own
heart. If at times you feared for it the narrow judgments of the
man of frivolous mind, you were always full of assurance that truly
religious souls would end by finding pleasure in it. In the midst of
these sweet meditations the Angel of Death smote both of us with
his pinion ; the slumber of fever seized us at the self-same hour; I
awakened alone.
Now you bleep in the land of Adonis, near holy Byblos and the
sacred waters whither the women of the ancient mysteries were
wont to come and mingle their tears. O, my good genius, reveal to
me, whom you loved, these verities that have kingship over death,
that shield us from the dread of it, that almost, make us love it!
Ernest Rcnan*$ dedication of his Life of Jems
The Morning Star
npnou wert the morning star among the living,
I Ere thy fair light had fled ;
Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus giving
New splendour to the dead*
Shelley9ft version of Plato's lines to Stella
Let Me Grow Lovely, Growing Old
T ET me grow lovely, growing old,
JLr So many old things do :
Laces and ivory and gold,
And silks, need not be new.
And there is healing in old trees,
Old streets a glamour hold,
Why may not I} as well as these,
Grow lovely, growing old ?
Karle Wilson Bak&r