Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Little Book of Modern Verse. 1917.
Mildred McNeal Sweeney
The Poet
H
When the singing lips in the dust
With all mute lips are laid.
For thither all men must.
Nor is the end long stayed.
Upon the faithful air
And given it speed—is strong
That last strange hour to dare,
Nor wills to tarry long.
That greater self shall pass,
And wear its eager prime
And lend the youth it has
Like one far blowing chime.
And now—his word gone forth—
May have his perfect rest
Low in the tender earth,
The wind across his breast.