The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) Selected and revised by the author. Copyright edition. In two volumes |
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| I. | I. (FRIEND AND FRIEND.) |
| II. |
 | The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) |  |
I. (FRIEND AND FRIEND.)
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.
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
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,
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.
(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,
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.
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.
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.
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
“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.
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!
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.
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
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?
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?
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?
| The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) | |