 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
LIFELESS LIFE.
Since we, for the last time, “good-by” have said;
Since I may never hold thy hands again,
And prayers are useless, and all tears are vain,—
What do I here, when round thy soul are spread
Silence and sleep, and on my spirit shed
The bitter, uncompassionating pain,
Till my heart yearns for rest, as earth for rain,
When by the utter sun discomfited?
Since I may never hold thy hands again,
And prayers are useless, and all tears are vain,—
What do I here, when round thy soul are spread
Silence and sleep, and on my spirit shed
The bitter, uncompassionating pain,
Till my heart yearns for rest, as earth for rain,
When by the utter sun discomfited?
So, a blind man within some storied hall
May hear men round him press, and one voice praise
The deep enchantment of a pictured face,
One this sheer stretch of sea, and one the fall
Of April sunlight on some green, wet place,
While he stands sightless between wall and wall.
May hear men round him press, and one voice praise
The deep enchantment of a pictured face,
One this sheer stretch of sea, and one the fall
Of April sunlight on some green, wet place,
While he stands sightless between wall and wall.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |