A Song before Grief

Sorrow, my friend, When shall you come again? The wind is slow, and the bent willows send Their silvery motions wearily down the plain. The bird is dead That sang this morning through the summer rain! Sorrow, my friend, I owe my soul to you. And if my life with any glory end Of tenderness for others, and the words are true, Said, honoring, when I ’m dead,— Sorrow, to you, the mellow praise, the funeral wreath, are due. And yet, my friend, When love and joy are strong, Your terrible visage from my sight I rend With glances to blue heaven. Hovering along, By mine your shadow led, “Away!” I shriek, “nor dare to work my new-sprung mercies wrong!” Still you are near: Who can your care withstand? When deep eternity shall look most clear, Sending bright waves to kiss the trembling land, My joy shall disappear,— A flaming torch thrown to the golden sea by your pale hand.

Collection: 
English
Rose Hawthorne Lathrop

More from Poet

  • The Clock's Song

    Eileen of four, Eileen of smiles; Eileen of five, Eileen of tears; Eileen of ten, of fifteen years, Eileen of youth And woman’s wiles; Eileen of twenty, In love’s land, Eileen all tender In her bliss, Untouched by sorrow’s treacherous kiss, And the sly weapon in life’s hand,— Eileen aroused to...

  • A Song before Grief

    Sorrow, my friend, When shall you come again? The wind is slow, and the bent willows send Their silvery motions wearily down the plain. The bird is dead That sang this morning through the summer rain! Sorrow, my friend, I owe my soul to you. And if my life with any glory end Of tenderness for...

  • Dorothy

    Dear little Dorothy, she is no more! I have wandered world-wide from shore to shore, I have seen as great beauties as ever were wed; But none can console me for Dorothy dead. Dear little Dorothy! How strange it seems That her face is less real than the faces of dreams; That the love which kept...

  • Give Me Not Tears

    Despair dear, when you see my grave, Oh, shall you weep? Ah, no! That were to have Mistaken care; But when you see my grave, I pray you keep Sunshine of heart that time doth lay me there, Where veiling mists of dream guard endless sleep. Though the young life we mourn That, blooming, dies,— Ere...