Page:Le Tombeau de Théophile Gautier, 1873.djvu/144

Of woods and waters to the calm sublime
Sent up their roundelay!

This was our poet in the front of faith!
     Our singer gone to his most sweet repose,
     Sped to his summer from the time of snows
And winter winding all the world with death ; —
Who shall make moan or utter moumful breath
     That this our noblest one no longer knows
     Our evil place of toil and many woes,
Lying at the last where no voice entereth?
Who shall weave for him other than a wreath
          Of laurel and of rose ?

Hence with the cypress and the funeral song!
     Let not the shrill sound of our mourning mar
     His triumph, that upon the Immortals’ car
Passes, star-crowned ; but from the laurelled throng,
That stand await, let every voice prolong
     A noise of jubilance, that from afar
     Shall hail in heaven the new majestic star
That rises, with a radiance calm and strong,
To burn for ever, unobscured, among
          The courts where the Gods are!

Ay, let the trumpets and the clarions blow,
     The air rain roses and the sky resound
     With harpings of his peers that stand around,
The while the splendours of the triumph go