John Hall Wheelock tribute

In the quiet before cockcrow when the cricket's Mandolin falters, when the light of the past Falling from the high stars yet haunts the earth And the east quickens, I think of those I love- Dear men and women no longer with us.

And not in grief or regret merely but rather With a love that is almost joy I think of them, Of whom I am part, as they of me, and through whom I am made more wholly one with the pain and the glory, The heartbreak at the heart of things.

I have learned it from them at last, who am now grown old A happy man, that the nature of things is tragic And meaningful beyond words, that to have lived Even if once only, once and no more, Will have been-oh, how truly-worth it.

The years go by: March flows into April, The sycamore's delicate tracery puts on Its tender green; April is August soon; Autumn , and the raving of insect choirs, The thud of apples in moonlit orchards;

Till winter brings the slant, windy light again On shining Manhattan, her towering stone and glass; And age deepens-oh, much is taken, but one Dearer than all remains, and life is sweet Still, to the now enlightened spirit. . .

Truly, to me they now may come no more, But I to them in reverie and remembrance Still may return, in me they still live on; In me they shall have their being, till we together darken in the great memory.

Dear eyes of delight, dear youthful tresses, foreheads Furrowed with age, dear hands of love and care- Lying awake at dawn, I remember them, With a love that is almost joy I remember them; Lost, and all mine, all mine, forever. John Hall Wheelock