| Jessie B. Rittenhouse, ed. (1869–1948). The Second Book of Modern Verse. 1922. |
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| Death—Divination |
| | | Charles Wharton Stork |
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| DEATH is like moonlight in a lofty wood, | |
| That pours pale magic through the shadowy leaves; | |
| ’T is like the web that some old perfume weaves | |
| In a dim, lonely room where memories brood; | |
| Like snow-chilled wine it steals into the blood, | 5 |
| Spurring the pulse its coolness half reprieves; | |
| Tenderly quickening impulses it gives, | |
| As April winds unsheathe an opening bud. | |
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| Death is like all sweet, sense-enfolding things, | |
| That lift us in a dream-delicious trance | 10 |
| Beyond the flickering good and ill of chance; | |
| But most is Death like Music’s buoyant wings, | |
| That bear the soul, a willing Ganymede, | |
| Where joys on joys forevermore succeed. | |
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