To Zöe: The Dead Are Living

Well hast thou felt it, Zöe dear,
“The dead are living!” now & here;
And loving “makes the absent near!”

The tender thoughts that use to greet
Thy risen spirit glad & sweet,
Are daily mentors that repeat
The lesson of the Roman sage;
And man’s deep heart in every age
Records it on his holiest page.

As o’er thy treasured dust we lay
Bright flowers to crown thy natal day,
With memoirs blooming, fresh as they; 
Thy heart, responding from above
Proclaims, through ways we know not of, –
"We are immortal by our love!”“

How flame hath kindled kindred flame;
How from the earth the rose-scent came
When Bobolink told June his name; –
We know not, & no more can tell
Why love, where ere the Loved may dwell,
Lives in the Name we love so well;

But this we know, – that name can bring
Pure thoughts that bloom, & thoughts that sing, 
And toward thy sunny home take wing!
Where thou art living, ever more, than when through New Life’s opening door 
Thou passest to thy golden home!

Dear Angel Zöe! doubly dear
As we approach thy radiant sphere!
It is no dream that thou art near!