Something my brother said to me like this,
But how unlike it also, think, I pray: His eyes were music, and his smile a kiss;
Himself the word, his speech was but a ray
In the clear nimbus that with verity Of absolute utterance made a home-born day
Of truth about him, lamping solemnly;
And when he paused, there came a swift repose, Too high, too still to be called ecstasy--
A purple silence, lanced through in the close
By such keen thought that, with a sudden smiling, It grew sheen silver, hearted with burning rose.
He was a glory full of reconciling,
Of faithfulness, of love with no self-stain, Of tenderness, and care, and brother-wiling
Back to the bosom of a speechless gain.