Harriet Monroe

Great soldier of the fighting clan, Across Port Arthur's frowning face of stone You drew the battle sword of old Japan, And struck the White Tsar from his Asian throne. Once more the samurai sword Struck to the carved hilt in your loyal hand, That not alone your heaven-descended lord Should meanly wander in the spirit land. Your own proud way, O eastern star, Grandly at last you followed. Out it leads To that high heaven where all the heroes are, Lovers of death for causes and for creeds.

Good-bye!—no, do not grieve that it is over, The perfect hour; That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover, Flits from the flower. Grieve not—it is the law. Love will be flying— Yes, love and all. Glad was the living—blessed be the dying. Let the leaves fall.