 | The hours of the passion and other poems |  |
121
LILY
Maybe the end is near for me to meet.
How can I let last words go forth of mine,
And not thy name be found in any line,
My Lily of Lilies;—yet O name most sweet,
How can I let last words go forth of mine,
And not thy name be found in any line,
My Lily of Lilies;—yet O name most sweet,
How can I speak of thee, the heart of gold?
Of all these years in which we two have part,
Of all together we have known, O heart,
The hidden things that never may be told?
Of all these years in which we two have part,
Of all together we have known, O heart,
The hidden things that never may be told?
I bear the precious and the secret store
Out of this world, where Mammon mocks and reigns,
Into that other world, wherein remains
The Past eternal for the Future's score.
Out of this world, where Mammon mocks and reigns,
Into that other world, wherein remains
The Past eternal for the Future's score.
I saw, I keep it, treasure laid above,
Thy breaking smile of infantine surprise,
When first thy little brother met thine eyes,
Thy bending gaze of rapture and of love.
Thy breaking smile of infantine surprise,
When first thy little brother met thine eyes,
Thy bending gaze of rapture and of love.
Together have I seen your sweet lives grow,
The nineteen years of innocent young life:—
Trouble was there, and loss, and pain, and strife,
But you, my angels, made a heaven below.
The nineteen years of innocent young life:—
Trouble was there, and loss, and pain, and strife,
But you, my angels, made a heaven below.
122
When from thy side Death tore him without ruth,
Thy soul passed with him into Paradise;
And, thence returning, looked with angel eyes
On pain and woe, heroic in thy youth.
Thy soul passed with him into Paradise;
And, thence returning, looked with angel eyes
On pain and woe, heroic in thy youth.
I have seen—I must be silent—night and day,
Thy strong, unfaltering fight with agony;
I have heard, 'twixt life and death, th' heart-rending cry
Of ‘Lily! Lily! Lily! with me stay!’
Thy strong, unfaltering fight with agony;
I have heard, 'twixt life and death, th' heart-rending cry
Of ‘Lily! Lily! Lily! with me stay!’
Thy soft face, thy soft hair, thy loving hands,
Thy cheek of roses, once upon my breast:—
O Child, I must not, cannot speak the rest;
For who is there but I that understands?
Thy cheek of roses, once upon my breast:—
O Child, I must not, cannot speak the rest;
For who is there but I that understands?
| The hours of the passion and other poems | |