Idyls and Songs by Francis Turner Palgrave: 1848-1854 |
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II. |
III. |
IV. |
V. |
VI. |
VII. |
VIII. |
XII. |
XIV. |
XV. |
XVI. |
XVII. |
XVIII. |
XIX. |
XX. |
XXI. |
XXII. |
XXIII. |
XXIV. |
XXV. |
XXVI. |
XXVII. |
XXVIII. |
XXIX. |
XXX. |
XXXI. |
XXXII. |
XXXIII. |
XXXIV. |
XXXV. |
XXXVI. |
XXXVII. |
XXXVIII. |
XXXIX. |
XL. |
XLI. |
XLII. |
XLIII. |
XLIV. |
XLV. |
XLVI. |
XLVII. |
XLIX. |
L. |
LI. |
LII. |
LIII. |
LIV. |
LV. |
LVI. |
LVII. |
LVIII. |
LIX. |
LX. |
LXI. |
LXIII. |
LXIII. |
LXIV. |
LXV. |
LXVI. |
LXVII. |
LXVIII. |
LXIX. |
LXX. | LXX.
IRONY. |
LXXI. |
LXXII. |
LXXIII. |
LXXIV. |
LXXV. |
LXXVI. |
LXXVII. |
LXXVIII. |
LXXIX. |
LXXX. |
LXXXII. |
Idyls and Songs | ||
152
LXX. IRONY.
I may not weep, I may not weep
The loss of all I held most dear:
There is no solace in a tear,
No medicine for the wound of grief,—
—Too deep, too deep
For any such relief.
The loss of all I held most dear:
There is no solace in a tear,
No medicine for the wound of grief,—
—Too deep, too deep
For any such relief.
There is no rest from thoughts that throng,
That flash a Presence through the mind:
The speaking glance: the voice too kind—
Too kind to work such utter woe,
Such bitter wrong,
Such wreck of all below.
That flash a Presence through the mind:
The speaking glance: the voice too kind—
Too kind to work such utter woe,
Such bitter wrong,
Such wreck of all below.
Yet 'neath this sovereign load of ill,
This vast inseparable regret,
The world maintains his tenour yet:—
Their tale of claims the days revive:—
—Not as we will,
But as we must we live.
This vast inseparable regret,
The world maintains his tenour yet:—
Their tale of claims the days revive:—
—Not as we will,
But as we must we live.
And friend meets friend: hand twines in hand:
Smiles—laughter—jest—we don the mask:
We clench us to the daily task:
We take the common light of things:
E'en where we stand
The sun his glory flings.
Smiles—laughter—jest—we don the mask:
We clench us to the daily task:
We take the common light of things:
E'en where we stand
The sun his glory flings.
153
We may not weep—we know not why:—
We know not why we smile, nor ask:
Man acts a mystery 'neath the mask:
We seek some answer e'en from birth:
And the reply
Unrealizes Earth.
We know not why we smile, nor ask:
Man acts a mystery 'neath the mask:
We seek some answer e'en from birth:
And the reply
Unrealizes Earth.
Idyls and Songs | ||