The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) ::

May we, then, never know each other?
Who love each other more, I dare
Affirm for both, than brother brother,
Ay! more, my friend, than they that are
The children of one mother.

A look—and lo, our natures meet!
A word—our minds make one reply!
A touch—our hearts have but one beat!
And, if we walk together—why
The same thought guides our feet

The self-same course! The flower that blows
A scent unguess'd in hedgerow green,
Slim spiders, where the water throws,
The starry-weeded stones between,
Strange light that flits and flows,

Were charged by some sweet spirit, sure,
(Love's minister, and ours!) to strike
Our sense with one same joy, allure
Our hearts, and bless us both alike
With memories that endure.

282

True friend! I know you: and I know
You know me too. And this is well.
Yet something seems to lie below
All knowledge, which is hard to tell.
The world, where hands let go,

Slips in between. The warmth yet stays
Where, twelve safe hours ago, no more
Your soul touch'd mine. But days and days
Make callous what one day leaves sore,
Ichoring the wound they graze.

Not ours the change, if change must fall,
Nor yours the fault, nor mine, my friend!
Life's love will last: but not love's small
Sweet hourly lives. That these should end
It grieves me. That is all.

This is time's curse. Since life began
It hath been losing love too fast.
And I would keep, while yet I can,
Man's faith in love, lest at the last
I lose love's faith in man.

But something sighs, “Be satisfied.
“Ye know no more than ye can know.”
And walking, talking, side by side,
It sometimes seems to me as though
Love did to love provide

283

(How shall I say?) a man, in fine,
A ghostly Third,—who is, indeed,
Not you nor I, though yours and mine;
The creature of our mutual need,
The friend for whom we pine.

You call him Me: I call him You:
Who is not either you nor I:
This phantom friend, whom we pursue,
Released by Love's fine alchemy,
Mere product of us two!

The man that each in each hath sought,
And each within himself hath found:
The being of our separate thought,
To each by his own nature bound,
From his own nature wrought.

Heed well our friend, while yet we may!
There are so many winds about,
And any wind may blow away
Love's airy child. O never doubt
He is the common prey

Of every chance, while love remains:
And every chance which he survives
Is something added to love's gains.
Comfort our friend whilst yet he lives!
Dead, what shall pay our pains?

284

If cold should kill his heart at last,
Regret will idly muse, and think
In at what window blew the blast?
Or how we might have stopp'd that chink.
What mends a moment past?

II. (MAN AND WIFE.)

Nay, Sweet! no thought, not any thought,
At least not any thought of you,
But what must thank dear love. Nor aught
Of love's mistrust between us two
Can ever creep. Thank God, we keep
Too close to let thin doubts slip through,

And leave a scar where they divide
Hearts meant by Heaven to hold together.
So, soul by soul, as side by side,
We sit. Thought wanders hither, thither,
From star to star, yet not so far
But what, at end of all its tether,

It feels the beating of your heart,
To which mine bound it long ago.
Our love is perfect, every part.
Love's utmost reach'd at last, must so
Henceforth abide. And, if I sigh'd
Just now, I scarcely wish to know

285

The reason why. Who feels love's best,
Must feel love's best can be no more.
We see the bound, no longer guess'd,
But fix'd for ever. Lo, the shore!
On either hand, 'twixt sea and land,
How clear and fine does sight explore

That long-drawn self-determined line
Of difference traced! My Own, forgive
That, sitting thus, your hand in mine,
Glad that dear God doth let us live
So close, my Own, so almost one,
A thought that wrongs repose should strive

With pure content. So much we are,
Who are no more . . . . could I explain!
Ah, the calm sea-coast! Think, how far
Across the world came land and main,
Endeavouring each to find and reach
The other,—well, and they attain

Here! And just here, where they unite,
The point of contact seems to be
The point of severance. Left and right,
Here lies the land and there the sea.
They meet from far: they touch: yet are
Still one and one eternally,

286

With still that touch between—that touch
That joins and yet divides—the shore.
Oh soul to soul, dear love, 'tis much!
Love's utmost gain'd can give no more.
And yet . . . Well, no! 'tis better so.
Earth still (be glad!) holds Heaven in store.

University of Virginia Library

SIDE BY SIDE.

I. (FRIEND AND FRIEND.)

II. (MAN AND WIFE.)