Consolatrix

By George Sterling

To Phoebe Apperson Hearst

By all the good thy hands have done,
  Whose time was all too brief,
Hear now from us whose words are one
  Our word of love and grief!

Greater than kings whom nations mourn,
  In woe a nation shares,
Wert thou, inevitably born
  To still a myriad cares.

Compassion! That celestial good
  Saving the world from night,
How deeply hast thou understood
  Its beauty and its light!

From out the many woeful ways
  Thy sympathy hath trod;
From out our shared, unhappy days,
  Take now the way to God!

And on thy brow's maternal snows,
  Holy with selfless years,
O take our wreath of western rose,
  Whose dew is human tears!

The San Francisco Examiner, April 16th, 1919

Bibliography Entry