
Dec 3d 91
To Walt Whitman
Dear Sir,
I enclose a poem "Thanatos"—It has never been published and is
the expression of a young Lady's conception of death Is it asking too much for a line
from you who must know its merits perhaps better than others who have
not the poet sense
of appreciation —If it pleases you and is worth your while—will you acknowledge the source to
Miss Helen J. Holcombe
211. West 69th St New York.



"Thanatos."
A Minstrel, straying from the courts of God, Who sings of other lands, and fairer Climes, Soft Skies of blues; olives and limes Live all-days in those far off Climes An Gilead minstrel he, an alien God, Whose strange song sways as half remembered chimes Of bells will flood the dreariness drowsy Dark Deep in the night or mother-given rhymes Will creep to mind, and stir up happy tears. A fair–strange Minstrel he; his exiled feet Soft tread the Earth. Men fear the song he sings, So pure the harmony it brings, Discordant with their own it rings. Oft-times upon his path, a Life he'll meet! With harp unstrung—he slights not slaves, nor kings— But tunes its plaint to some diviner key. Then by one gracious hand-sweep oe'r the strings Melodiously the soul sends God-ward—free— Helen J. Holcombe—1891.