Olwen
Ward.
* TO
A LECTURER .
WHAT, alas ,
can
yet
delay ,
Or what
recall
the hours
That while
I
grasp
them
fade away
Like dreams,
like
friends,
like
flowers .
There
is
a
wisdom
that
endures
After
the
teacher
dies —
Not
so
the
wisdom
that
is
yours ,
Of
tones, of smiles , of
sighs.
And
when
the
vivid
voice
is
still
,
And
the
eloquent face
is
gone
,
Dull memory
is
mute
and
chill
,
The ecstasy
is
flown
.
O
could
the
gods
immortalize
The one
remaining
hour
,
The mind
's
delight
,
the
soul
's
surprise
,
And
your
elusive
power
!
205