 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
260
IN EXTREMIS.
Now that Hope lies sick to death,
Come and weep;
None can stay her parting breath;
Dark and deep
Let her grave be, — cool and quiet
Under all the summer riot.
Come and weep;
None can stay her parting breath;
Dark and deep
Let her grave be, — cool and quiet
Under all the summer riot.
At her head let roses be,
For a sign
Of Love's ardent wreath that she
Might not twine;
And, for Peace, she might not meet with,
Lilies cover her white feet with.
For a sign
Of Love's ardent wreath that she
Might not twine;
And, for Peace, she might not meet with,
Lilies cover her white feet with.
Now that she is dead and dumb,
Stay your tears;
In the years that are to come,
Sunless years,
She again will never move you,
Only hopeless sorrow prove you.
Stay your tears;
In the years that are to come,
Sunless years,
She again will never move you,
Only hopeless sorrow prove you.
All your weeping is in vain, —
She is dead!
Her no tears can make again, —
Lift her head.
Dearest, most divine deceiver,
Say your last farewell, and leave her.
She is dead!
Her no tears can make again, —
Lift her head.
Dearest, most divine deceiver,
Say your last farewell, and leave her.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |