HERE where under earth his head
Finds a last and lonely bed,
Let him speak upon the stone:
Etsi omnes, ego non.
Here he shall not know the eyes
Bent upon their sordid prize
Earthward ever, nor the beat
Of the hurrying faithless feet.
None to make him perfect cheer
Join’d him on his journey drear;
Some too soon, who fell away;
Some too late, who mourn to-day.
Yet while comrades one by one
Made denial and were gone,
Not the less he labor’d on:
Etsi omnes, ego non.
Surely his were heart and mind
Meet for converse with his kind,
Light of genial fancy free,
Grace of sweetest sympathy.
But his soul had other scope,
Holden of a larger hope,
Larger hope and larger love.
Meat to eat men knew not of:
Knew not, know not—yet shall sound
From this place of holy ground
Even this legend thereupon,
Etsi omnes, ego non.
