 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
102
INSEPARABLE.
When thou and I are dead, my dear,
The earth above us lain;
When we no more in autumn hear
The fall of leaves and rain,
Or round the snow-enshrouded year
The midnight winds complain;
The earth above us lain;
When we no more in autumn hear
The fall of leaves and rain,
Or round the snow-enshrouded year
The midnight winds complain;
When we no more in green mid-spring,
Its sights and sounds may mind,—
The warm wet leaves set quivering
With touches of the wind,
The birds at morn, and birds that sing
When day is left behind;
Its sights and sounds may mind,—
The warm wet leaves set quivering
With touches of the wind,
The birds at morn, and birds that sing
When day is left behind;
When, over all, the moonlight lies,
Intensely bright and still;
When some meandering brooklet sighs
At parting from its hill,
And scents from voiceless gardens rise,
The peaceful air to fill;
Intensely bright and still;
When some meandering brooklet sighs
At parting from its hill,
And scents from voiceless gardens rise,
The peaceful air to fill;
When we no more through summer light
The deep dim woods discern,
Nor hear the nightingales at night,
In vehement singing, yearn
To stars and moon, that dumb and bright,
In nightly vigil burn;
The deep dim woods discern,
Nor hear the nightingales at night,
In vehement singing, yearn
To stars and moon, that dumb and bright,
In nightly vigil burn;
When smiles and hopes and joys and fears
And words that lovers say,
And sighs of love, and passionate tears
Are lost to us, for aye,—
What thing of all our love appears,
In cold and coffin'd clay?
And words that lovers say,
And sighs of love, and passionate tears
Are lost to us, for aye,—
What thing of all our love appears,
In cold and coffin'd clay?
103
When all their kisses, sweet and close,
Our lips shall quite forget;
When, where the day upon us rose,
The day shall rise and set,
While we for love's sublime repose,
Shall have not one regret,—
Our lips shall quite forget;
When, where the day upon us rose,
The day shall rise and set,
While we for love's sublime repose,
Shall have not one regret,—
Oh, this true comfort is, I think,
That, be death near or far,
When we have crossed the fatal brink,
And found nor moon nor star,
We know not, when in death we sink,
The lifeless things we are.
That, be death near or far,
When we have crossed the fatal brink,
And found nor moon nor star,
We know not, when in death we sink,
The lifeless things we are.
Yet one thought is, I deem, more kind,
That when we sleep so well,
On memories that we leave behind
When kindred souls shall dwell,
My name to thine in words they'll bind
Of love inseparable.
That when we sleep so well,
On memories that we leave behind
When kindred souls shall dwell,
My name to thine in words they'll bind
Of love inseparable.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |