FRIEND of the dead, and friend of all my days br Even since they cast off boyhood, I salute br The song saluting friends whose songs are mute br With full burnt-offerings of clear-spirited praise. br That since our old young years our several ways br Have led through fields diverse of flower and fruit br Yet no cross wind has once relaxed the root br We set long since beneath the sundawn’s rays, br The root of trust whence towered the trusty tree, br Friendship this only and duly might impel br My song to salutation of your own; br More even than praise of one unseen of me br And loved the starry spirit of Dobell, br To mine by light and music only known. br br II. br br But more than this what moves me most of all br To leave not all unworded and unsped br The whole heart’s greeting of my thanks unsaid br Scarce needs this sign, that from my tongue should fall br His name whom sorrow and reverent love recall, br The sign to friends on earth of that dear head br Alive, which now long since untimely dead br The wan grey waters covered for a pall. br Their trustless reaches dense with tangling stems br Took never life more taintless of rebuke, br More pure and perfect, more serene and kind, br Than when those clear eyes closed beneath the Thames, br And made the now more hallowed name of Luke br Memorial to us of morning left behind.