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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=573269" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Sonnet XXXIX. Bayard Taylor.</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=573269" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">CAN one so strong in hope, so rich in bloom<br>That promised fruit of nobler worth than all<br>He yet had given, drop thus with sudden fall?<br>The busy brain no more its work resume?<br>Can death for life so versatile find room?<br>Still must we fancy thou canst hear our call<br>Across the sea — with no dividing wall<br>More dense than space to interpose its doom.<br>Ah then — farewell, young-hearted genial friend!<br>Farewell, true poet, who didst grow and build<br>From thought to thought still upward and still new.<br>Farewell, unsullied toiler in a guild<br>Where some defile their hands, and where so few<br>With aims as pure strive faithful to the end.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Christopher+Pearse+Cranch">Christopher Pearse Cranch</a></strong></div>

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