SENT TO THE DINNER GIVEN IN HONOR OF WALT WHITMAN'S SEVENTIETH
BIRTHDAY, AT CAMDEN, N.J., MAY 31, 1889, AT 5 O'CLOCK P.M.
"Splendor of ended day floating and filling me,"
Comes to my mind as I think of the hour
When our poet and friend will be lovingly drinking
The mystical cup of the seventy years' power.
Were I the man-of-war bird he has pictured
Nothing could keep me from flying that way.
But, though absent in body, there's nothing can hinder
My tasting the joys of that festive birthday;
For on the swift wings of the ending day's splendor
My soul will glide in to drink deep the cup's wealth.
Who knows but the poet's keen sense of pure friendship
Will feel, 'midst the joy, what I drink to his health?—
Splendor of ended day
Be but the door
Opening the endless way
Life evermore.