The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) Selected and revised by the author. Copyright edition. In two volumes |
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| II. | II. (MAN AND WIFE.) |
 | The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) |  |
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,
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,
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
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
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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
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
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
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,
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,
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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.
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.
| The poems of Owen Meredith (Honble Robert Lytton.) | |