 | The Marriage Before Death, And Other Poems |  |
87
THE ROSE WILL BLOSSOM NONE THE LESS.
The rose will blossom none the less,
When I am lying dead and cold,
The summer breeze will still caress
Its petals as of old.
When I am lying dead and cold,
The summer breeze will still caress
Its petals as of old.
The pure white lilies still will shine
Along the quiet lanes, though I
No more their tender stalks may twine,
For Nature cannot die.
Along the quiet lanes, though I
No more their tender stalks may twine,
For Nature cannot die.
The green grass still will glitter through
The woods—the ferns will still be sweet
With morning and with evening dew,
Though no morn I may meet.
The woods—the ferns will still be sweet
With morning and with evening dew,
Though no morn I may meet.
Lovers will wander through the woods,
And twine bright tendrils in their hair,
And laugh from under blossomy hoods—
But I shall not be there.
And twine bright tendrils in their hair,
And laugh from under blossomy hoods—
But I shall not be there.
88
Soft lips will cling, and smile, and kiss,
Soft hands will join with tender glee,
Glad with the old impassioned bliss
Of love;—I shall not see.
Soft hands will join with tender glee,
Glad with the old impassioned bliss
Of love;—I shall not see.
Nature is pitiless—she spurns
The individual—then bestows
On others that for which he yearns,
Nature no mercy knows.
The individual—then bestows
On others that for which he yearns,
Nature no mercy knows.
Each year the fresh bright buds begin
Their lovely spotless reign—the flowers
Their various hues and odours win,
But where are last year's bowers?
Their lovely spotless reign—the flowers
Their various hues and odours win,
But where are last year's bowers?
Yea, where are last year's lovers? Where
Are all the lips we found so sweet,
The golden wind-waved wealth of hair,
Bright as the wind-waved wheat?
Are all the lips we found so sweet,
The golden wind-waved wealth of hair,
Bright as the wind-waved wheat?
Where are the joys that came and fled,
Where are the birds that sang and flew,
Where are the roses that were red,
The hare-bells that were blue?
Where are the birds that sang and flew,
Where are the roses that were red,
The hare-bells that were blue?
89
Where are the grasses that were green,
Where are the lilies that were white,
Where are the moons that swam serene
Through cloven tides of night?
Where are the lilies that were white,
Where are the moons that swam serene
Through cloven tides of night?
Where are the whispers that we heard,
In love's soft summer weather, when
The leaves were loud with many a bird,
As we were lute-voiced—then?
In love's soft summer weather, when
The leaves were loud with many a bird,
As we were lute-voiced—then?
Where is the meadow-sweet I found,
To twine within your dark-brown hair?
The summer grass that hid the ground,
And those soft fern-fronds—where?
To twine within your dark-brown hair?
The summer grass that hid the ground,
And those soft fern-fronds—where?
Where are you now? Where are the days
So full of hope, so full of glee;
Where are my first impassioned lays
That mingled with the sea?
So full of hope, so full of glee;
Where are my first impassioned lays
That mingled with the sea?
Where are my early eager songs,
Where are the early wild desires;
Where are the thoughts that leaped in throngs
Across fast-smitten lyres?
Where are the early wild desires;
Where are the thoughts that leaped in throngs
Across fast-smitten lyres?
Where are the bays that once were green?
Alas! they are withered and burnt brown;
Nothing remaineth that hath been,
No garland, and no crown.
Alas! they are withered and burnt brown;
Nothing remaineth that hath been,
No garland, and no crown.
90
Fresh flowers shall bloom beside the way,
Fresh summers smile—fresh lovers too,
When I am old and worn and grey,
But all these shall be new!
Fresh summers smile—fresh lovers too,
When I am old and worn and grey,
But all these shall be new!
Not one bud of the buds we saw,
Shall spring and bloom for us again;
Such—such is Nature's piteous law,
Her gift of constant pain.
Shall spring and bloom for us again;
Such—such is Nature's piteous law,
Her gift of constant pain.
Her gift of constant change and growth,
For, lest the world be over full,
She hath the bitter mission both
To plant and to up-pull.
For, lest the world be over full,
She hath the bitter mission both
To plant and to up-pull.
She hath no mercy in her hands,
She hath no pity in her voice;
She bid leth all the verdant lands
Bud, blossom and rejoice.
She hath no pity in her voice;
She bid leth all the verdant lands
Bud, blossom and rejoice.
And then when autumn comes she shakes
The wild red leaves upon the air,
And hurls them o'er the rustling brakes,
Like jewels from her hair.
The wild red leaves upon the air,
And hurls them o'er the rustling brakes,
Like jewels from her hair.
The fierce red leaves fly far and wide,
O'er autumn fields and autumn hills,
Like cast-off jewels of a bride,
Whose heart some sorrow chills.
O'er autumn fields and autumn hills,
Like cast-off jewels of a bride,
Whose heart some sorrow chills.
91
And then a new spring comes again,
And all the green young leaves are there,
Without a trace of death or pain,
Nature rebinds her hair.
And all the green young leaves are there,
Without a trace of death or pain,
Nature rebinds her hair.
But when we closelier look we find
That every bud is wholly new,
Nature was over-rich to bind
Again the leaves that flew
That every bud is wholly new,
Nature was over-rich to bind
Again the leaves that flew
Adown the autumn in her locks—
She must have flowers that never more
Shall glitter 'mid the woods and rocks,
And never shone before.
She must have flowers that never more
Shall glitter 'mid the woods and rocks,
And never shone before.
So let us find a sad content
In yielding to her bitter ways,
When hope and youth and joy are rent
From us, then let us raise
In yielding to her bitter ways,
When hope and youth and joy are rent
From us, then let us raise
Our eyes towards future joys that some
Shall know, but which we shall not see.
Again the laughing spring shall come—
Again the red-rose tree.
Shall know, but which we shall not see.
Again the laughing spring shall come—
Again the red-rose tree.
Again sweet lovers shall traverse
The sacred, silent groves we knew;
Soft secrets these in turn shall nurse,
In hearts as soft and true.
The sacred, silent groves we knew;
Soft secrets these in turn shall nurse,
In hearts as soft and true.
92
These I address my song to—these
Whom perhaps my struggling voice may reach,
As a far wind 'mid distant trees,
Or faint waves on a beach.
Whom perhaps my struggling voice may reach,
As a far wind 'mid distant trees,
Or faint waves on a beach.
I like to feel that some may read
These words when I am long since dead,
And see that as their hearts do bleed,
A buried heart once bled;
These words when I am long since dead,
And see that as their hearts do bleed,
A buried heart once bled;
And know that as their living souls
Rejoice and laugh on summer days,
I once rejoiced and laughed—their bowls
Of gladness I could raise.
Rejoice and laugh on summer days,
I once rejoiced and laughed—their bowls
Of gladness I could raise.
I like to feel that they may say
To one another, “Would that we
Alive in this our meagre day
Could be as dead as he,
To one another, “Would that we
Alive in this our meagre day
Could be as dead as he,
“If but we might with plaintive song
Secure our tender loves from death,
And mix them in a current strong
With the Eternal's breath;
Secure our tender loves from death,
And mix them in a current strong
With the Eternal's breath;
“Sending a living music past
Our graves that surely are to be,
A song that mixes with the blast,
That floats upon the sea.
Our graves that surely are to be,
A song that mixes with the blast,
That floats upon the sea.
93
“Thus blending our lives with the flowers
Of summers sleeping yet unborn
Amid the future's mountainous bowers,
Thus mingling with the morn
Of summers sleeping yet unborn
Amid the future's mountainous bowers,
Thus mingling with the morn
“Whose crimson cloud-ranks from afar
We watch for—thus made one with those
Who walk 'neath many a future star,
Made one with many a rose.
We watch for—thus made one with those
Who walk 'neath many a future star,
Made one with many a rose.
“Made one with many a linnet too,
And many a yellow-breasted thrush,
And many a lark who climbs the blue,
And many a bending rush
And many a yellow-breasted thrush,
And many a lark who climbs the blue,
And many a bending rush
“In many a bright-green future lake,
By many a soft and grassy shore—
Thus able their joys to partake,
Although we live no more.
By many a soft and grassy shore—
Thus able their joys to partake,
Although we live no more.
“Able to sip the lips of love,
And thrill soft bosoms with our song,
And quicken hearts our numbers move,
And make the doubting strong.
And thrill soft bosoms with our song,
And quicken hearts our numbers move,
And make the doubting strong.
“Able to rest in tender hands,
Though we ourselves have past away
Into pale flowerless scentless lands
Of languor and decay.”
Though we ourselves have past away
Into pale flowerless scentless lands
Of languor and decay.”
94
I like to feel that thus may speak
Some future readers of these lines,
Looking towards some far mountain peak,
Or trellised hill of vines.
Some future readers of these lines,
Looking towards some far mountain peak,
Or trellised hill of vines.
And, thinking thus, the very gift
Of which they speak I seem to know;
Wide plumes of pleasure I uplift,
Wide pinions, white as snow.
Of which they speak I seem to know;
Wide plumes of pleasure I uplift,
Wide pinions, white as snow.
And, no more, sorrow comes to me
Because the rose will blossom still
When I have long since ceased to be—
Rather a rapturous thrill
Because the rose will blossom still
When I have long since ceased to be—
Rather a rapturous thrill
To think that perhaps a song or two
Of mine may yet outlive the rose,
And still be found a blossom new,
When spring's bloom fades and goes.
Of mine may yet outlive the rose,
And still be found a blossom new,
When spring's bloom fades and goes.
To think that perhaps a word of mine
May have more durance than the thrush,
More power of lasting than the vine,
More vigour than the rush.
May have more durance than the thrush,
More power of lasting than the vine,
More vigour than the rush.
To think that perhaps my voice may sound
To future lovers sitting where
Once for my love's own locks I wound
White flowers as sweet and fair.
To future lovers sitting where
Once for my love's own locks I wound
White flowers as sweet and fair.
95
To think that perhaps a poet's life
Is not the brief and hollow thing
Death severs with his wayward knife,
But gifted with a wing
Is not the brief and hollow thing
Death severs with his wayward knife,
But gifted with a wing
To rise and hover o'er the grave:
So let the rose bloom none the less,
And let the dim grey willows wave,
And let the winds caress
So let the rose bloom none the less,
And let the dim grey willows wave,
And let the winds caress
New flowers when I am dead and gone;
If but one passionate tune shall live,
That tune shall bid my spirit wan
A lively joy receive.
If but one passionate tune shall live,
That tune shall bid my spirit wan
A lively joy receive.
If but one maiden weeps for me,
Yea, but one single tender tear,
That pearl shall pierce triumphantly
The black forbidding bier
Yea, but one single tender tear,
That pearl shall pierce triumphantly
The black forbidding bier
And change into a white rose—this,
This boon I shall not fail to see;
And that white flower shall bring the bliss
Of ample heaven to me!
This boon I shall not fail to see;
And that white flower shall bring the bliss
Of ample heaven to me!
| The Marriage Before Death, And Other Poems | |