Poems By Richard Chenevix Trench: New ed |
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TO M --- |
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201
TO M ---
Dear girl, that clingest to my side
So closely in thy tears,
As overawed and terrified
By some mysterious fears;
So closely in thy tears,
As overawed and terrified
By some mysterious fears;
Thine own great loss, thy parents' woe,
Thou dimly dost divine,
And weepest; yet thou dost not know
What cause to weep is thine.
Thou dimly dost divine,
And weepest; yet thou dost not know
What cause to weep is thine.
Sad art thou and disconsolate,
That he is gone away,
The youthful friend, the joyful mate
Of childhood's happy day;
That he is gone away,
The youthful friend, the joyful mate
Of childhood's happy day;
That he who sported on life's shore,
And culled bright shells with thee
And beauteous plants, will sport no more
By that fair-seeming sea.
And culled bright shells with thee
And beauteous plants, will sport no more
By that fair-seeming sea.
But I am shedding other tears
For thee, my gentle child—
Far looking o'er the surge of years
So gloomy, dark, and wild:
For thee, my gentle child—
Far looking o'er the surge of years
So gloomy, dark, and wild:
Gone is he, who amid that strife
Would with an arm more strong
For thee have cleft the waves of life,
And shielded from its wrong.
Would with an arm more strong
For thee have cleft the waves of life,
And shielded from its wrong.
202
That holy thing—a brother's love—
Thine is it still to claim;
Oh! ever be it thine to prove
What means that holy name.
Thine is it still to claim;
Oh! ever be it thine to prove
What means that holy name.
But over him vain watch we keep,
Our first—thine elder—born;
And all of us have cause more deep
Than yet we know, to mourn.
Our first—thine elder—born;
And all of us have cause more deep
Than yet we know, to mourn.
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