Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments By Frederic W. H. Myers: Edited by his Wife Eveleen Myers |
 |
|
|
| I. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| II. |
|
[And thou too knew'st her, friend! thy lot hath been] |
 | Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments |  |
360
[And thou too knew'st her, friend! thy lot hath been]
And thou too knew'st her, friend! thy lot hath been
To watch her climb thro' walnut-shadows green,
List in the woodways her light step, and see
On the airy Alp those eyes of Arcady.
To watch her climb thro' walnut-shadows green,
List in the woodways her light step, and see
On the airy Alp those eyes of Arcady.
I need not fear, then, 'twas my heart alone
Forged an enchanting image of its own;—
That starlight on the upland lawns had shed
Illusive rays about her starry head;—
That from those shadowed lakes in soft sunrise
I had drawn the depth, the blueness of her eyes;—
And dream was all her look, and whispering stir
Of winds in pines was all the voice of her.
Forged an enchanting image of its own;—
That starlight on the upland lawns had shed
Illusive rays about her starry head;—
That from those shadowed lakes in soft sunrise
I had drawn the depth, the blueness of her eyes;—
And dream was all her look, and whispering stir
Of winds in pines was all the voice of her.
Ah, when thou knew'st her, was her face still gay
With that child-wonder of her early day?
So Lippi's maiden angels softly drawn
On vistas daisy-gemmed of dewy lawn,
Stand with fair feet and rosy and rounded bloom
By martyr's prison-house or Virgin's tomb;
Or, clasped in flying circlet, float and mix
Their lily-stems with thorn and crucifix;—
Yet on those sorrowing scenes their looks are bent
Half unconcerned, and with a still content;
Since souls are these that have not yet been born
To pain and passion of our earth forlorn,
Not yet have strayed from heaven, nor yet they know
The upbuilding strength of life and love and woe.
Thus heedless they their childly arts employ,
By their own being taught that the end is joy.
With that child-wonder of her early day?
So Lippi's maiden angels softly drawn
On vistas daisy-gemmed of dewy lawn,
361
By martyr's prison-house or Virgin's tomb;
Or, clasped in flying circlet, float and mix
Their lily-stems with thorn and crucifix;—
Yet on those sorrowing scenes their looks are bent
Half unconcerned, and with a still content;
Since souls are these that have not yet been born
To pain and passion of our earth forlorn,
Not yet have strayed from heaven, nor yet they know
The upbuilding strength of life and love and woe.
Thus heedless they their childly arts employ,
By their own being taught that the end is joy.
Then, when I last looked on her, her face was still
As one on earth, but past all earthly ill;
One whose last tear was wept, sighed her last sigh,
And dead already all that in her could die.
As one on earth, but past all earthly ill;
One whose last tear was wept, sighed her last sigh,
And dead already all that in her could die.
| Collected Poems: With Autobiographical and Critical Fragments | |