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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
A LAMENT.
OLIVER MADOX BROWN — Born 1855, Died 1874.
My friend has left me, he has gone away;
Before his time — so long before — he went.
Bright was the dawn of his unended day;
But love might not, yea, nothing, might prevent
The hand of Death from striking. O fair Art!
First mistress of his intellect and heart,
Of this our common sorrow bear thy part,
Bow down, and weep now for the words I say.
Before his time — so long before — he went.
Bright was the dawn of his unended day;
But love might not, yea, nothing, might prevent
The hand of Death from striking. O fair Art!
First mistress of his intellect and heart,
Of this our common sorrow bear thy part,
Bow down, and weep now for the words I say.
225
His lips are mute, and stilled is the great brain;
The strong heart beats no more; the strife is done.
So near the goal, he reached it without pain;
We crowned him, then he went beyond the sun.
But though he has gone out from us, his name
Shall lessen not with time; and his young fame
Shall burn forever, an enduring flame, —
A steadfast light, that may not wax or wane.
The strong heart beats no more; the strife is done.
So near the goal, he reached it without pain;
We crowned him, then he went beyond the sun.
But though he has gone out from us, his name
Shall lessen not with time; and his young fame
Shall burn forever, an enduring flame, —
A steadfast light, that may not wax or wane.
Lo, that first work whereby we bowed to him,
Calling him master, though he was so young!—
Shall intervening centuries make dim
Those sea-tossed lovers who together clung,
What time they had for common enemies
The blasting tropic suns and treacherous seas,
And torture of long thirst they might not ease,
Till hearts began to fail, and brains to swim?
Calling him master, though he was so young!—
Shall intervening centuries make dim
Those sea-tossed lovers who together clung,
What time they had for common enemies
The blasting tropic suns and treacherous seas,
And torture of long thirst they might not ease,
Till hearts began to fail, and brains to swim?
The years that might have been, I seem to see;
I know the great work ended, and I hear
Rumors of storms, and voice of waves that flee;
I breathe a fierce and fervid atmosphere;
I see strong warriors meet, and armed for war,
I see each helmet shining like a star,
I hear the shock of weapons near and far,
And in the densest of the strife is he.
I know the great work ended, and I hear
Rumors of storms, and voice of waves that flee;
I breathe a fierce and fervid atmosphere;
I see strong warriors meet, and armed for war,
I see each helmet shining like a star,
I hear the shock of weapons near and far,
And in the densest of the strife is he.
My friend, my friend! He strikes with confident hand,
I hear the blows ring on opposing shields,
And none, I know, his prowess may withstand;
I know the shield he bears, the sword he wields.
Before his strength I see his foes give place;
And in my heart I see a spectre race
Look with glad eyes upon his lifted face,—
They who inhabit now the flowerless land.
I hear the blows ring on opposing shields,
And none, I know, his prowess may withstand;
I know the shield he bears, the sword he wields.
Before his strength I see his foes give place;
And in my heart I see a spectre race
Look with glad eyes upon his lifted face,—
They who inhabit now the flowerless land.
226
O friend and brother, if this thing might be,
That souls live after death, the great elect
Should throng the portals to give hail to thee;
And they thy wandering footsteps should direct, —
Should take thee where the fairest gardens glow,
Should take thee where the deepest rivers flow,
Should show thee all the faces thou wouldst know,
And linger with thee by the jasper sea.
That souls live after death, the great elect
Should throng the portals to give hail to thee;
And they thy wandering footsteps should direct, —
Should take thee where the fairest gardens glow,
Should take thee where the deepest rivers flow,
Should show thee all the faces thou wouldst know,
And linger with thee by the jasper sea.
But perfect rest is now thine heritage;
For though the labor of thy hand and brain
Had made thy life triumphant, none engage
To point the world new paths without the strain
Of long and arduous fighting. Oh, my friend,
Not thine our loss, — this unimagined end.
Life is not sweet, but sharp with thorns that rend;
And the soul's thirst what springs in life assuage?
For though the labor of thy hand and brain
Had made thy life triumphant, none engage
To point the world new paths without the strain
Of long and arduous fighting. Oh, my friend,
Not thine our loss, — this unimagined end.
Life is not sweet, but sharp with thorns that rend;
And the soul's thirst what springs in life assuage?
Fame is not always good, — remember this,
All ye with whom I mourn, who mourn with me;
Nor is love always a sure path to bliss,
And time works many changes sad to see.
Between the dearest friends estrangements rise,
Across wide gulfs they look with longing eyes;
But they have done with questions and replies,
And sad and very hard to bear this is.
All ye with whom I mourn, who mourn with me;
Nor is love always a sure path to bliss,
And time works many changes sad to see.
Between the dearest friends estrangements rise,
Across wide gulfs they look with longing eyes;
But they have done with questions and replies,
And sad and very hard to bear this is.
London I never loved for London's sake;
Her crowds oppressed me more than solitude.
But some strange music his fine ear could take
Mine failed to catch; yea, since he found her good, —
Loved the strong ebb and flow of fluctuant life,
The night's uneasy calm, the day's loud strife;
Found all her ancient streets with memories rife, —
Shall I not love her too, asleep, awake?
Her crowds oppressed me more than solitude.
But some strange music his fine ear could take
Mine failed to catch; yea, since he found her good, —
Loved the strong ebb and flow of fluctuant life,
The night's uneasy calm, the day's loud strife;
Found all her ancient streets with memories rife, —
Shall I not love her too, asleep, awake?
227
O friend, my friend, there is so much to tell, —
Since that September night when we met, last,
Dreams have passed by, and hopes have said farewell.
O love that lives, and life that soon is past!
From where he is he may not make reply;
Too far away he is to hear my cry.
Love weeps for us; for him love may not sigh;
And grief saith but one word, — irreparable!
Since that September night when we met, last,
Dreams have passed by, and hopes have said farewell.
O love that lives, and life that soon is past!
From where he is he may not make reply;
Too far away he is to hear my cry.
Love weeps for us; for him love may not sigh;
And grief saith but one word, — irreparable!
We talked about our future, many times;
Planned work together, jested and were grave;
And now he will not listen to my rhymes.
My sorrow breaks above me in one wave,
For he has left me, he has gone away
To lands that do not know the night from day;
Where men toil not, neither give thanks, nor pray;
Where come no rumors from the sounding climes.
Planned work together, jested and were grave;
And now he will not listen to my rhymes.
My sorrow breaks above me in one wave,
For he has left me, he has gone away
To lands that do not know the night from day;
Where men toil not, neither give thanks, nor pray;
Where come no rumors from the sounding climes.
O men and women, listen and be wise;
Refrain from love and friendship, dwell alone,
Having, for friends and loves, the seas, the skies,
And the fair land, — for these are still your own.
The sun is yours; the moon and stars are yours;
For you the great sea changes and endures,
And every year the spring returns, and lures:
I pray you only love what never dies.
Refrain from love and friendship, dwell alone,
Having, for friends and loves, the seas, the skies,
And the fair land, — for these are still your own.
The sun is yours; the moon and stars are yours;
For you the great sea changes and endures,
And every year the spring returns, and lures:
I pray you only love what never dies.
For life hath taught me with much diligence
How bitterest sorrow springs from things most fair, —
Remorseless Fate that calls those loved ones hence,
Who living gave us strength our cross to bear;
The failure of high purposes; the death
Of fairest inspiration; the quick breath,
The ebbing light, and the last words one saith;
Then dust and sleep and death, for recompense.
How bitterest sorrow springs from things most fair, —
Remorseless Fate that calls those loved ones hence,
Who living gave us strength our cross to bear;
The failure of high purposes; the death
Of fairest inspiration; the quick breath,
The ebbing light, and the last words one saith;
Then dust and sleep and death, for recompense.
228
I know it was of his a favorite creed,
That when the body dies the existing soul
Of other souls becomes a fruitful seed,
Changing, surviving through the years that roll;
Flashing continually from state to state,
Not ceasing with the lives that terminate, —
A part of life, of destiny, of fate,
The germ and the fulfilment, thought and deed.
That when the body dies the existing soul
Of other souls becomes a fruitful seed,
Changing, surviving through the years that roll;
Flashing continually from state to state,
Not ceasing with the lives that terminate, —
A part of life, of destiny, of fate,
The germ and the fulfilment, thought and deed.
Here, where I stumble, he walked, sure of foot;
And here more clear than mine his spirit's sight;
His high thought sprang from no uncertain root;
His intellect was like the broad noonlight;
He stemmed the tide of passion, strong and deep;
He walked most confidently up paths most steep;
And, in the path he loved, he fell asleep,
And of his life we gather now the fruit.
And here more clear than mine his spirit's sight;
His high thought sprang from no uncertain root;
His intellect was like the broad noonlight;
He stemmed the tide of passion, strong and deep;
He walked most confidently up paths most steep;
And, in the path he loved, he fell asleep,
And of his life we gather now the fruit.
I clasp another sorrow in my soul;
I take another memory to weep,
To love and cherish, while the seasons roll,
To think of while I wake or fall asleep.
The weary winter-time shall pass, and Spring
The patient earth at last revisiting,
With soft and flowerlike skies, and birds that sing,
Shall come most hearts to gladden and make whole.
I take another memory to weep,
To love and cherish, while the seasons roll,
To think of while I wake or fall asleep.
The weary winter-time shall pass, and Spring
The patient earth at last revisiting,
With soft and flowerlike skies, and birds that sing,
Shall come most hearts to gladden and make whole.
But mine she shall not gladden; I, for one,
By all her sweets will not be comforted.
The summer days shall glow with stress of sun;
The placid light of golden stars be shed;
With dew, at eve, the roses shall be sated;
And all the earth by slumber softly weighted, —
But love shall keep its sorrow unabated
Till all the fears and pains of life be done.
By all her sweets will not be comforted.
The summer days shall glow with stress of sun;
The placid light of golden stars be shed;
With dew, at eve, the roses shall be sated;
And all the earth by slumber softly weighted, —
But love shall keep its sorrow unabated
Till all the fears and pains of life be done.
229
Alas! what can be said? What can we do?
Ah me! we have no words; we can but wait,
Wait and remember, while the years wear through.
Life is at longest but a brief estate;
As a flower of the field, the Psalmist saith,
It blooms, and the fashion of it perisheth;
We cannot tell when we may chance on death,
To be resolved into the light, the dew.
Ah me! we have no words; we can but wait,
Wait and remember, while the years wear through.
Life is at longest but a brief estate;
As a flower of the field, the Psalmist saith,
It blooms, and the fashion of it perisheth;
We cannot tell when we may chance on death,
To be resolved into the light, the dew.
O friends, who sit together, well content,
Throwing your personal news out pleasantly,
Or meeting hotly in some argument,
Or interchanging deepest sympathy,
Prize well the precious moments; for indeed
You cannot tell when you may sorely need
The friendly talk and counsel. Take good heed
Your lips let through no word they might repent.
Throwing your personal news out pleasantly,
Or meeting hotly in some argument,
Or interchanging deepest sympathy,
Prize well the precious moments; for indeed
You cannot tell when you may sorely need
The friendly talk and counsel. Take good heed
Your lips let through no word they might repent.
Sleep well, my friend, the sleep that no dreams break!
I, too, some day, of sleep shall take my fill;
But now I live, and work for mere work's sake,
Missing the strength of thy controlling will.
I know my soul, through all, shall thirst and fret
For thee, for thee whom time may not forget;
And when I see dear friends together met,
I know my heart will fail in me and ache.
I, too, some day, of sleep shall take my fill;
But now I live, and work for mere work's sake,
Missing the strength of thy controlling will.
I know my soul, through all, shall thirst and fret
For thee, for thee whom time may not forget;
And when I see dear friends together met,
I know my heart will fail in me and ache.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |