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Hart Hawthorne Melville and stumbling thru a bit of Milton


  • To have known him, to have loved him

  • After loneness long;

  • And then to be estranged in life,

  • And neither in the wrong;

  • And now for death to set his seal—

  • Ease me, a little ease, my song!

  • By wintry hills his hermit-mound

  • The sheeted snow-drifts drape,

  • And houseless there the snow-bird flits

  • Beneath the fir-trees’ crape:

  • Glazed now with ice the cloistra…

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