Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). A Victorian Anthology, 1837–1895. 1895.

Norman Gale b. 1862

A Dead Friend

IT hardly seems that he is dead,

So strange it is that we are here

Beneath this great blue shell of sky

With apple-bloom and pear:

It scarce seems true that we can note

The bursting rosebud’s edge of flame,

Or watch the blackbird’s swelling throat

While he is but a name.

No more the chaffinch at his step

Pipes suddenly her shrill surprise,

For in an ecstasy of sleep

Unconsciously he lies,

Not knowing that the sweet brown lark

From off her bosom’s feathery lace

Shakes down the dewdrop in her flight

To fall upon his face.