The Dead Friend

From “In Memoriam” XXII. THE PATH by which we twain did go, Which led by tracts that pleased us well, Through four sweet years arose and fell, From flower to flower, from snow to snow.* * * * * But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope, As we descended, following Hope, There sat the Shadow feared of man;* * * * * Who broke our fair companionship, And spread his mantle dark and cold, And wrapped thee formless in the fold, And dulled the murmur on thy lip. XXIII. * * * * *When each by turns was guide to each, And Fancy light from Fancy caught, And Thought leapt out to wed with Thought Ere Thought could wed itself with Speech; And all we met was fair and good, And all was good that Time could bring, And all the secret of the Spring Moved in the chambers of the blood; XXV. I know that this was Life,—the track Whereon with equal feet we fared; And then, as now, the day prepared The daily burden for the back. But this it was that made me move As light as carrier-birds in air; I loved the weight I had to bear Because it needed help of Love: Nor could I weary, heart or limb, When mighty Love would cleave in twain The lading of a single pain, And part it, giving half to him. LXXXIV. * * * * *But I remained, whose hopes were dim, Whose life, whose thoughts were little worth, To wander on a darkened earth, Where are all things round me breathed of him. O friendship, equal-poised control, O heart, with kindliest motion warm, O sacred essence, other form, O solemn ghost, O crownèd soul! Yet none could better know than I, How much of act at human hands The sense of human will demands, By which we dare to live or die. Whatever way my days decline, I felt and feel, though left alone, His being working in mine own, The footsteps of his life in mine.* * * * * My pulses therefore beat again For other friends that once I met; Nor can it suit me to forget The mighty hopes that make us men. I woo your love: I count it crime To mourn for any overmuch; I, the divided half of such A friendship as had mastered Time; Which masters Time, indeed, and is Eternal, separate from fears: The all-assuming months and years Can take no part away from this.* * * * * CXVI. O days and hours, your work is this, To hold me from my proper place, A little while from his embrace, For fuller gain of after bliss: That out of distance might ensue Desire of nearness doubly sweet; And unto meeting when we meet, Delight a hundred-fold accrue.* * * * * CXXII. * * * * *The hills are shadows, and they flow From form to form, and nothing stands; They melt like mist, the solid lands, Like clouds they shape themselves and go. But in my spirit will I dwell, And dream my dream, and hold it true; For tho’ my lips may breathe adieu, I cannot think the thing farewell.