James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
April 2Mirabeau Dying
By William Ross Wallace (18191881)
W
Despite my tiger-face,
Have ye ne’er felt that in my heart
There was a gentle place?
Bears not the storm-cloud in his breast
The power of giving birth
To rainbows, at the sun’s command,
For tempest-shaken earth?
And let the summer breeze
Waft blessings on my changing brow,
From yonder murmuring trees;
And set some flowers upon the sill,
And round me pour perfume;
And sing the tenderest song ye know,
In death’s fast-gathering gloom.
Is brightly springing, see
Its glories twine beneath the sun
Of Immortality!
O thus! O thus with music, flowers,
To the Unknown I go;
Peace, Peace at last is on the brow
Of storm-souled Mirabeau.