 | The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton |  |
30
FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE.
If I could coldly sum the love
That we each other bear,
My heart would to itself disprove
The truth of what was there;—
Its willing utterance should express
Nothing but joy and thankfulness.
That we each other bear,
My heart would to itself disprove
The truth of what was there;—
Its willing utterance should express
Nothing but joy and thankfulness.
Yet Friendship is so blurred a name,
A good so ill-discerned,
That if the nature of the flame
That in our bosoms burned
Were treasured in becoming rhymes,
It might have worth in after-times.
A good so ill-discerned,
That if the nature of the flame
That in our bosoms burned
Were treasured in becoming rhymes,
It might have worth in after-times.
The Lover is a God,—the ground
He treads on is not ours;
His soul by other laws is bound,
Sustained by other powers;
We, children of a lowlier lot,
Listen and understand him not.
He treads on is not ours;
His soul by other laws is bound,
Sustained by other powers;
We, children of a lowlier lot,
Listen and understand him not.
31
Liver of a diviner life,
He turns a vacant gaze
Towards the theatre of strife,
Where we consume our days;
His own and that one other heart
Form for himself a world apart:
He turns a vacant gaze
Towards the theatre of strife,
Where we consume our days;
His own and that one other heart
Form for himself a world apart:
A sphere, whose sympathies are wings,
On which he rests sublime,
Above the shifts of casual things,
Above the flow of time;
How should he feel, how can he know
The sense of what goes on below?
On which he rests sublime,
Above the shifts of casual things,
Above the flow of time;
How should he feel, how can he know
The sense of what goes on below?
Reprove him not,—no selfish aim
Here leads to selfish ends;
You might as well the infant blame
That smiles to grieving friends:
Could all thus love, and love endure,
Our world would want no other cure.
Here leads to selfish ends;
You might as well the infant blame
That smiles to grieving friends:
Could all thus love, and love endure,
Our world would want no other cure.
But few are the elect, for whom
This fruit is on the stem,—
And for that few an early tomb
Is open,—not for them,
But for their love; for they live on,
Sorrow and shame! when Love is gone:
This fruit is on the stem,—
And for that few an early tomb
Is open,—not for them,
But for their love; for they live on,
Sorrow and shame! when Love is gone:
32
They who have dwelt at Heaven's own gate,
And felt the light within,
Come down to our poor mortal state,
Indifference, care, and sin;
And their dimmed spirits hardly bear
A trace to tell what once they were.
And felt the light within,
Come down to our poor mortal state,
Indifference, care, and sin;
And their dimmed spirits hardly bear
A trace to tell what once they were.
Fever and Health their thirst may slake
At one and the same stream;
The dreamer knows not till he wake
The falsehood of his dream:
How, while I love thee, can I prove
The surer nature of our love?
At one and the same stream;
The dreamer knows not till he wake
The falsehood of his dream:
How, while I love thee, can I prove
The surer nature of our love?
It is, that while our choicest hours
Are closed from vulgar ken,
We daily use our active powers,—
Are men to brother men,—
It is, that, with our hands in one,
We do the work that should be done.
Are closed from vulgar ken,
We daily use our active powers,—
Are men to brother men,—
It is, that, with our hands in one,
We do the work that should be done.
Our hands in one, we will not shrink
From life's severest due,—
Our hands in one, we will not blink
The terrible and true;
What each would feel a heavy blow
Falls on us both as autumn snow.
From life's severest due,—
Our hands in one, we will not blink
The terrible and true;
What each would feel a heavy blow
Falls on us both as autumn snow.
33
The simple unpresumptuous sway,
By which our hearts are ruled,
Contains no seed of self-decay;
Too temperate to be cooled,
Our Passion fears no blast of ill,
No winter, till the one last chill.
By which our hearts are ruled,
Contains no seed of self-decay;
Too temperate to be cooled,
Our Passion fears no blast of ill,
No winter, till the one last chill.
And even then no frantic grief
Shall shake the mourner's mind,—
He will reject no small relief
Kind Heaven may leave behind,
Nor set at nought his bliss enjoyed,
When now by human fate alloyed.
Shall shake the mourner's mind,—
He will reject no small relief
Kind Heaven may leave behind,
Nor set at nought his bliss enjoyed,
When now by human fate alloyed.
1838.
| The Poetical Works of (Richard Monckton Milnes) Lord Houghton | |