 | The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell |  |
92
THE PALMER AT THE WAYSIDE, RESTING.
What we once lost, may we ever have back;
That brightest, that one brightest thing, of our all;
Whose want has so often made sunshine look black,
And turned our writhed faces, in tears, to the wall?
That brightest, that one brightest thing, of our all;
Whose want has so often made sunshine look black,
And turned our writhed faces, in tears, to the wall?
Maiden's fair name? Or the young cheek's pure shame?
Or man's trusty faith, or his quick will to dare?
Or love, that to woman and man is the same;
What, lost, chills earth's warmth, and takes life from its air?
Or man's trusty faith, or his quick will to dare?
Or love, that to woman and man is the same;
What, lost, chills earth's warmth, and takes life from its air?
No!—We may never more see what we lost,
Though standing, with backward look, all the short day.
Another may wear it, or haply have tost,
Unknowing its worth, what we mourn for, away.
Though standing, with backward look, all the short day.
Another may wear it, or haply have tost,
Unknowing its worth, what we mourn for, away.
93
Nay,—what we lost, that can never be, more;
But broken, or trampled, or sullied, or torn,
No likeness will be of the look it once wore,
Save that in our poor hearts so faithfully borne.
But broken, or trampled, or sullied, or torn,
No likeness will be of the look it once wore,
Save that in our poor hearts so faithfully borne.
Maiden, untaught, yet, that torn hearts will cling,
And man, proudly choosing to doubt that which seems,
Oh, never, to you, may the one brightest thing
Be that which then only in memory gleams!
And man, proudly choosing to doubt that which seems,
Oh, never, to you, may the one brightest thing
Be that which then only in memory gleams!
Bitter to think, and most bitter to yearn!
Ah! bitter to know that our hand was too slack!
With naught, then, but praying for meek hearts, to learn
That dear things, once lost, we shall never have back!
Ah! bitter to know that our hand was too slack!
With naught, then, but praying for meek hearts, to learn
That dear things, once lost, we shall never have back!
If, then, in tenderness God after give
Some new priceless thing, with more wise heed to wear,
(For hearts must still love, or be dead while they live,)
Then leave to the past what was lightly lost there.
Some new priceless thing, with more wise heed to wear,
(For hearts must still love, or be dead while they live,)
Then leave to the past what was lightly lost there.
August 7, 1862.
| The poems of Robert Traill Spence Lowell | |