 | Under the dawn |  |
41
MY BROTHER.
TO A. C. S.
Brother, my brother, my sad-toned brother—
The same as ever, but yet more fair,
Thou shalt surely find her; never another;
And cool, sweet hands of her grace shalt share.
The same as ever, but yet more fair,
Thou shalt surely find her; never another;
And cool, sweet hands of her grace shalt share.
My pale, strong brother, my sweet-winged brother,
Thou shalt know that summer-filled, rose-fed air
In heaven, and her face—never another—
And “the likeness and look of her throat and hair.”
Thou shalt know that summer-filled, rose-fed air
In heaven, and her face—never another—
And “the likeness and look of her throat and hair.”
O brother to sorrow, O bay-crowned brother,
With the thorns upon brows as a weight to wear,
She hath to soothe thee, she and none other—
Thy soul to the meadows of peace to bear.
With the thorns upon brows as a weight to wear,
She hath to soothe thee, she and none other—
Thy soul to the meadows of peace to bear.
42
O brother, my brother, my clear-voiced brother,
With a name to weep and a name to dare,
That old one love of thine, never another,
Shall be “startled and stricken, awake and aware.”
With a name to weep and a name to dare,
That old one love of thine, never another,
Shall be “startled and stricken, awake and aware.”
Ah! brother, brother, my well-loved brother,
I know thy love, and am bold to declare
That thou shalt find her—as sweet, and none other,
And the eyes, and the lips, and the old same hair.
I know thy love, and am bold to declare
That thou shalt find her—as sweet, and none other,
And the eyes, and the lips, and the old same hair.
| Under the dawn | |