 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
SEPARATED FORTUNES
Dearest, beholding thy poor married tears,
Since thou hast made thy choice and chosen ill;
And I must watch the slow pathetic years
Far from that hearth where thou art lonely still.
Since thou hast made thy choice and chosen ill;
And I must watch the slow pathetic years
Far from that hearth where thou art lonely still.
The cradle of thy sorrow claims thy care,
O patient mother; on this mate of thine
Smile, if one careless word he has to spare;
Crouch, if his hand be heavy with the wine.
O patient mother; on this mate of thine
Smile, if one careless word he has to spare;
Crouch, if his hand be heavy with the wine.
I am slain with pity of thy doom to be.
I pray; but easier shall this mountain gate
Unlock its roots and drench them in the sea,
Than I could loose one rivet of thy fate.
I pray; but easier shall this mountain gate
Unlock its roots and drench them in the sea,
Than I could loose one rivet of thy fate.
Live; and thy child will grow to love thee right,
The blighted years will rust themselves away;
Till to thy spirit weary for the night
Sleep shall unroll the prison-doors of day.
The blighted years will rust themselves away;
Till to thy spirit weary for the night
Sleep shall unroll the prison-doors of day.
50
I hear a noise of autumn round again;
A few more seasons and we shall not weep:
We lived divided in our living pain;
We shall lie sundered in our latest sleep.
A few more seasons and we shall not weep:
We lived divided in our living pain;
We shall lie sundered in our latest sleep.
Thou shalt repose where that Italian sea
Rolls, without tide, more lucid than our waves.
By northern Humber's foam my rest shall be;
The deep shall sound between us in our graves.
Rolls, without tide, more lucid than our waves.
By northern Humber's foam my rest shall be;
The deep shall sound between us in our graves.
The moon at full will beam on either tomb;
The stars at morn will hide themselves away.
No step will come more sadly for thy doom,
No lark will sing less gaily in the grey.
The stars at morn will hide themselves away.
No step will come more sadly for thy doom,
No lark will sing less gaily in the grey.
Love in his end shall falter as did ours;
The true shall lose him and the traitor win.
Time as of old among life's garden flowers
Shall pull as weeds the choicest buds therein.
The true shall lose him and the traitor win.
Time as of old among life's garden flowers
Shall pull as weeds the choicest buds therein.
Worn with her sentence of eternal blight
Earth's seasons will not alter or rebel;
While up above the shining zenith-light
They tell me Mercy sits—and all is well!
Earth's seasons will not alter or rebel;
While up above the shining zenith-light
They tell me Mercy sits—and all is well!
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |