Celia Thaxter

Homage

NAY, comrade, 't is a weary path we tread
    Through this world’s desert spaces, dull and dry,
And long ago died out youth’s morning-red,
    And low the sunset fires before us lie:
 
And you are worn, though brave the face you wear.
    Forbear the deprecating gesture, take
The honest admiration that I bear
    Your genius, and be mute, for friendship’s sake.
 
Up to your lips I lift a generous wine,
    Pure, perfumed, potent, living, sparkling bright;
A deep cup, brimming with a draught divine;
    Drink, then, and be refreshed with my delight.
 
It gladdens you? You know the gift sincere?
    You dreamed not life yet held a thing so sweet?
Nay, noble friend, your thanks I will not hear,
    But I shall cast my roses at your feet,
 
And go my way rejoicing that 't is I
    Who recognize, acknowledge, judge you best,
Proud that a star so steadfast lights the sky,
    And in the power of blessing you most blest.
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