 | English Roses |  |
LOST AND LOVED.
Do you mark that little mound of green
Where the daisies grow and glimmer up,
Like a wave of sorrow hardly seen
In the glory of the buttercup?
There she lies in that deep furrow
Very calm and cold,
Where strange creatures breed and burrow
In her mortal mould.
Ah, the clammy kisses of the rain
Fall upon what was her gentle brow,
But she feels no longer pulse of pain
In the grimness of her dimness now.
Where the daisies grow and glimmer up,
Like a wave of sorrow hardly seen
In the glory of the buttercup?
There she lies in that deep furrow
Very calm and cold,
Where strange creatures breed and burrow
In her mortal mould.
Ah, the clammy kisses of the rain
Fall upon what was her gentle brow,
But she feels no longer pulse of pain
In the grimness of her dimness now.
472
There she silent rests in that Dead Sea,
Frozen, who was once all heavenly fire,
And the passion of my empty plea
Wakes no answer from her still desire.
In and out the ruined chamber
Of her blessed bones,
Things of horror creep and clamber
As amid dumb stones.
And those lashes long and dark and dear
Curtaining her glad and glorious eyes
Cannot bear the burden of a tear,
When her beauty from its duty flies.
Frozen, who was once all heavenly fire,
And the passion of my empty plea
Wakes no answer from her still desire.
In and out the ruined chamber
Of her blessed bones,
Things of horror creep and clamber
As amid dumb stones.
And those lashes long and dark and dear
Curtaining her glad and glorious eyes
Cannot bear the burden of a tear,
When her beauty from its duty flies.
Ah, she loved me as but woman can
Pouring out the richness of her heart,
Though the compass of its mighty plan
Touched me not, unvalued and apart.
As the night-flower sees the splendour
Merely of the moon,
Not its fellows, she did render
Me alone her boon;
Shone for me in shadowed time and place
In the danger, as no other would,
And betwixt me even and death's embrace
In the trial and denial stood.
Pouring out the richness of her heart,
Though the compass of its mighty plan
Touched me not, unvalued and apart.
As the night-flower sees the splendour
Merely of the moon,
Not its fellows, she did render
Me alone her boon;
Shone for me in shadowed time and place
In the danger, as no other would,
And betwixt me even and death's embrace
In the trial and denial stood.
Now too late I find the treasure past,
Light and tenderness beyond all name,
Sympathy that like an ocean vast
Lapped me in its mingled faith and flame.
Low she sleeps and mutely presses
Other lips than mine,
While the worm with fond caresses
Clasps that face divine.
And upon the bosom where I lay
Heedless of the jewel in my hand,
Lie the mouldering dust and miry clay
And grief only for the lonely land.
Light and tenderness beyond all name,
Sympathy that like an ocean vast
Lapped me in its mingled faith and flame.
Low she sleeps and mutely presses
Other lips than mine,
While the worm with fond caresses
Clasps that face divine.
And upon the bosom where I lay
Heedless of the jewel in my hand,
Lie the mouldering dust and miry clay
And grief only for the lonely land.
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