 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
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TO PHILIP BOURKE MARSTON.
Since now at end of pain thou liest dead,
How shall I dare to utter moan for thee?
Doth any grieve for prisoner set free?
Or shall our tears upon his brow be shed
Who after long starvation full is fed?
Nay, rather, clamor bells exultantly,—
Like wedding chimes ring out your harmony,
Since saddest Life to gladdest Death is wed.
How shall I dare to utter moan for thee?
Doth any grieve for prisoner set free?
Or shall our tears upon his brow be shed
Who after long starvation full is fed?
Nay, rather, clamor bells exultantly,—
Like wedding chimes ring out your harmony,
Since saddest Life to gladdest Death is wed.
Thou, whose whole life was sorrow! In thy grave
Doth not strange joy possess thee, and deep rest,—
Such rest as no man knoweth, having breath?
Dost thou not hear from far the old blasts rave
That long pursued thee with relentless quest;
And know them mocked, at last, by Thee and Death?
Doth not strange joy possess thee, and deep rest,—
Such rest as no man knoweth, having breath?
Dost thou not hear from far the old blasts rave
That long pursued thee with relentless quest;
And know them mocked, at last, by Thee and Death?
L. C. M.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |