The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) Selected and revised by the author. Copyright edition. In two volumes |
 | I. |
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 | I. |
| II. |
A REMONSTRANCE. |
| III. |
| IV. |
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| II. |
 | The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) |  |
104
A REMONSTRANCE.
I
Deem, if thou wilt, that I am all, and worseThan all, they bid thee deem that I must be.
But, ah! wilt thou desert love's universe,
Deserting me?
II
Not for my sake, be mine unworth forgiven,But for thine own. Since I, despite my dearth
Of all that made thee, what thou art, my Heaven,
Am still thine Earth;
III
Still thy love's only habitable star;Whose element engender'd, and embosoms
All thoughts, all feelings, all desires, which are
Love's roots and blossoms.
IV
Who will hold dear the ashes of the daysBurn'd out on altars deem'd no more divine?
Rests there of thy soul's wealth enough to raise
A new god's shrine?
V
Who will forgive thy cheek its faded bloom,Save he whose kisses that blanch'd rose hath fed?
Thine eyes, the stain of tears—save he for whom
Those tears were shed?
105
VI
Despite the blemisht beauty of thy brow,Thou would'st be lovely couldst thou love again;
For love renews the beautiful. But thou
Hast only pain.
VII
How wilt thou bear from pity to imploreWhat once thy power from rapture could command?
How wilt thou stretch—who wast a Queen of yore—
A suppliant's hand?—
VIII
Even of thy pride be poor enough to askLove's purchased shelter, charitably chill,
Yet hast thou strength to recommence the task
Of pardoning still?
IX
For who will prize in thee love's loss of allLove hath to give save pardon for love wrong'd,
Unless that pardon be, whate'er befall
Love's pride, prolong'd?
X
And thou—to whom demanding all that ICan claim no more, wilt thou henceforth extend
Forgiveness on forgiveness, with that sigh
Which shuns the end?
XI
Where wilt thou find the unworthier lips than mine,To plead for pardon with a prayer more lowly?
To whom else, pardoning much, become divine
By pardoning wholly?—
106
XII
Ah, if thy heart can pardon yet, why yetShould not its latest pardon be for me?
And, if thou wilt not pardon, canst thou set
The future free
XIII
From the unpardon'd past, and so forget me?If not,—forgive me for thine own sad sake;
Else, having left me, thou would'st still regret me,
And still would'st take
XIV
Revenge for that regret on thine own bosom,Revenge on others for the failure, found
In them, to rear transplanted love to blossom
On blighted ground.
XV
As lion, tho' by lion wounded, stillDoth miss the boisterous pastime of his kind,
Or wild sea-eagle, tho' with broken quill,
Clipt, and confined,
XVI
And fed on dainty fare among the doves,Doth miss the stormy sea-wind and the brine,
So would'st thou miss, amid all worthier loves,
The unworth of mine.
XVII
Then, if the flush of love's first faith be wan,And thou wilt love again, again love me,
For what I am—no Saint, but still a man
That worships thee.—
| The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) | |