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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
312
WORTH REMEMBRANCE.
Of me ye may say many a bitter thing,
O Men, when I am gone, — gone far away
To that dim Land where shines no light of day.
Sharp was the bread for my soul's nourishing
Which Fate allowed, and bitter was the spring
Of which I drank and maddened; even as they
Who wild with thirst at sea will not delay,
But drink the brine and die of its sharp sting.
O Men, when I am gone, — gone far away
To that dim Land where shines no light of day.
Sharp was the bread for my soul's nourishing
Which Fate allowed, and bitter was the spring
Of which I drank and maddened; even as they
Who wild with thirst at sea will not delay,
But drink the brine and die of its sharp sting.
Not gentle was my war with Chance, and yet
I borrowed no man's sword, — alone I drew
And gave my slain fit burial out of view.
In secret places I and Sorrow met:
So, when you count my sins, do not forget
To say I taxed not any one of you.
I borrowed no man's sword, — alone I drew
And gave my slain fit burial out of view.
In secret places I and Sorrow met:
So, when you count my sins, do not forget
To say I taxed not any one of you.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |