 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
UPON THE SHORE.
All, love, is as it was this time last year,
When we together stood as now we stand,
By the same sea, on the same curving strand;
And, as last year we heard, so now we hear
The rippling of the water cool and clear!
When we together stood as now we stand,
By the same sea, on the same curving strand;
And, as last year we heard, so now we hear
The rippling of the water cool and clear!
The old grief still goes with me near and far,
Like the sweet burden of a mournful air
Full of the sadness of unanswered prayer;
Not sad with discords strange that strike and jar,
But sad as early autumn twilights are.
Like the sweet burden of a mournful air
Full of the sadness of unanswered prayer;
Not sad with discords strange that strike and jar,
But sad as early autumn twilights are.
57
And you? You know I do not blame you, sweet;
My lot was sore and had but little ease,
And his was smooth and soft, a path of peace, —
Ah, well it was, love, that the path was smooth
For your soft beauty and your untried youth.
My lot was sore and had but little ease,
And his was smooth and soft, a path of peace, —
Ah, well it was, love, that the path was smooth
For your soft beauty and your untried youth.
Let us recall the past a little space, —
That night of summer storm, when on the shore
We heard athwart the sea the thunder roar,
And sound of rising wind, and saw the blaze
Of lightning all about the sea-girt place.
That night of summer storm, when on the shore
We heard athwart the sea the thunder roar,
And sound of rising wind, and saw the blaze
Of lightning all about the sea-girt place.
That night you leaned your head upon my breast,
As now upon another breast you lean.
O days gone by, O days that might have been!
To love is good, no doubt; but you love best
A calm safe life, with wealth and ease and rest.
As now upon another breast you lean.
O days gone by, O days that might have been!
To love is good, no doubt; but you love best
A calm safe life, with wealth and ease and rest.
Gifts he will bring you, dear, each mood to please;
And make life soft and pleasant for your feet;
But will he give you love like mine, O sweet,
From which my heart can never know release
Till death and darkness bring me perfect peace?
And make life soft and pleasant for your feet;
But will he give you love like mine, O sweet,
From which my heart can never know release
Till death and darkness bring me perfect peace?
Nay, let us once take hands before we part;
You bore — half prized — my love a little while, —
'T was something that long summer to beguile!
There, see, I kiss the hand that cast the dart;
You gave me grief, and I gave you my heart!
You bore — half prized — my love a little while, —
'T was something that long summer to beguile!
There, see, I kiss the hand that cast the dart;
You gave me grief, and I gave you my heart!
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |