 | Poems Real and Ideal |  |
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I. THE LATER LOVE.
Yes: first love was most sweet. But, fourteen long years nearer
To death (and God?), one sees all things with vision clearer
And larger is the might
Of love that gathers force from all the years receding
And glances back and back along the roadway bleeding,
Till thoughts of past pains fill its eyes with light.
To death (and God?), one sees all things with vision clearer
And larger is the might
Of love that gathers force from all the years receding
And glances back and back along the roadway bleeding,
Till thoughts of past pains fill its eyes with light.
So, greater is the love that God and death watch over
Now, than the love that wings of meadow-sweet and clover
Guarded in early days.
And grander is the scent of salt waves large and leaping
Than scent of the old pines in mountain-meadows sleeping
Under the suns of youth, and their warm rays.
Now, than the love that wings of meadow-sweet and clover
Guarded in early days.
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Than scent of the old pines in mountain-meadows sleeping
Under the suns of youth, and their warm rays.
The whole soul gathers force, and all the force it gathers
Adds to the might of love, and strong love ever fathers
Stronger delight and glee:
Even as the laughing might of the blue-bubbling river
Is nought beside the jests whose strong wings flash and quiver
Over the surface of the windy sea.
Adds to the might of love, and strong love ever fathers
Stronger delight and glee:
Even as the laughing might of the blue-bubbling river
Is nought beside the jests whose strong wings flash and quiver
Over the surface of the windy sea.
First love is very sweet. But later love is sweeter:
For the near face of death adds sweetness to the metre
In which the last love sings.
Sweet is the touch of love when life is all before us,
But sweeter is love's touch when round about and o'er us
Rustle the untouched and immortal wings.
For the near face of death adds sweetness to the metre
In which the last love sings.
Sweet is the touch of love when life is all before us,
But sweeter is love's touch when round about and o'er us
Rustle the untouched and immortal wings.
Sept.. 17, 1883.
| Poems Real and Ideal | |