| XV Now sits the autumn cricket in the grass, And on the gravel crawls the chilly bee; Near to its close and none too soon for me Draws the dull year, in which has come to pass The changing of the happy child I was Into this quiet creature people see Stitching a seam with careful industry To deaden you, who died on Michaelmas. Ages ago the purple aconite Laid its dark hoods about it on the ground, And roses budded small and were content; Swallows were south long since and out of sight; With you the phlox and asters also went; Nor can my laughter anywhere be found. XVI And must I, indeed, Pain, live with you All through my life? — sharing my fire, my bed, Sharing — oh, worst of all things! — the same head? — And, when I feed myself, feeding you, too? So be it, then, if what seems true, is true: Let us to dinner, comrade, and be fed; — I cannot die till you yourself are dead, And, with you living, I can live life through. Yet have you done me harm, ungracious guest, Spying upon my ardent offices With frosty look; robbing my nights of rest; And making harder things I did with ease. You will die with me: but I shall, at best, Forgive you with restraint, for deeds like these. XVII Grief that is grief and properly so height Has lodging in the orphaned brain alone, Whose nest is cold, whose wings are now his own And thinly feathered for the perchless flight Between the owl and ermine; overnight His food is reason, fodder for the grown, His range is north to famine, south to fright. When Constant Care was manna to the beak, And Love Triumphant downed the hovering breast, Vainly the cuckoo's child might nudge and speak In ugly whispers to the indignant nest: How even a feathered heart had power to break, And thud no more above their huddled rest. - 13 lines - XVIII Felicity of Grief! — even Death being kind, Reminding us how much we dared to love! There, once, the challenge lay, — like a light glove Dropped as through carelessness — easy to find Means and excuse for being somewhat blind Just at that moment; and why bend above, Take up, such certain anguish for the mind? Ah, you who suffer now as I now do, Seeing, of Life's dimensions, not one left Save Time — long days somehow to be lived through: Think — of how great a thing were you bereft That it should weigh so now! — and that you knew Always, its awkward contours, and its heft. - 13 lines - XIX If I die solvent — die, that is to say, In full possession of my critical mind, Not having cast, to keep the wolves at bay In this dark wood — till all be flung behind — Wit, courage, honor, pride, oblivion Of the red eyeball and the yellow tooth; Nor sweat nor howl nor break into a run When loping Death's upon me in hot sooth; 'Twill be that in my honoured hands I bear What's under no condition to be spilled Till my blood spills and hardens in the air: An earthen grail, a humble vessel filled To its low brim with water from that brink Where Shakespeare, Keats, Chaucer learned to drink. XX What rider spurs him from the darkening east As from a forest, and with rapid pound Of hooves, now light, now louder on hard ground, Approaches, and rides past with speed increased, Dark spots and flecks of foam upon his beast? What shouts he from the saddle, turning 'round, As he rides on? — "Greetings! — I made the sound; "Greetings from Nineveh!" — it seemed, at least. Did someone catch the object that he flung? He held some object in his saddle-bow, And flung it towards us as he passed; among The children then it fell most likely; no, 'Tis here: a little bell without a tongue. Listen; it has a faint voice even so. |
vfssmail (at) gmaill (dot) com