"Home They Brought Her Warrior" 1093 When I was wont to meet her We stood tranced in long embraces A shadow flits before me, Not thou, but like to thee. Ah, Christ, that it were possible For one short hour to see The souls we loved, that they might tell us What and where they be! Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892] "HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD" From "The Princess HOME they brought her warrior dead; All her maidens, watching, said, Then they praised him, soft and low, Truest friend and noblest foe; Yet she neither spoke nor moved. Stole a maiden from her place, Rose a nurse of ninety years, Set his child upon her knee,- Alfred Tennyson [:809-1892] EVELYN HOPE BEAUTIFUL Evelyn Hope is dead! Little has yet been changed, I think: Save two long rays through the hinge's chink. Sixteen years old when she died! Perhaps she had scarcely heard my name; It was not her time to love; beside, Her life had many a hope and aim, Duties enough and little cares, And now was quiet, now astir, Is it too late, then, Evelyn Hope? And our paths in the world diverged so wide, Each was naught to each, must I be told? No, indeed! for God above Is great to grant, as mighty to make, And creates the love to reward the love: I claim you still, for my own love's sake! Delayed, it may be, for more lives yet, Through worlds I shall traverse, not a few: Much is to learn, much to forget Ere the time be come for taking you. But the time will come, at last it will, When, Evelyn Hope, what meant (I shall say) In the lower carth, in the years long still, That body and soul so pure and gay? Remembrance Why your hair was amber, I shall divine, And your mouth of your own geranium's red,And what you would do with me, in fine, In the new life come in the old one's stead. I have lived (I shall say) so much since then, Gained me the gains of various men, Ransacked the ages, spoiled the climes; I loved you, Evelyn, all the while! My heart seemed full as it could hold; 1095 There was place and to spare for the frank young smile, And the red young mouth, and the hair's young gold. So, hush, I will give you this leaf to keep: See, I shut it inside the sweet, cold hand! There, that is our secret; go to sleep! You will wake, and remember, and understand. Robert Browning [1812-1889] REMEMBRANCE COLD in the earth-and the deep snow piled above thee, Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave! Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee, Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover Cold in the earth-and fifteen wild Decembers, Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee, Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong! No later light has lightened up my heaven, But, when the days of golden dreams had perished, Then did I check the tears of useless passion- And, even yet, I dare not let it languish, Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain; Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish, How could I seek the empty world again? SONG Emily Brontë [1818-1848] THE linnet in the rocky dells, The moor-lark in the air, The bee among the heather bells The wild deer browse above her breast; I ween that, when the grave's dark wall Did first her form retain, They thought their hearts could ne'er recall Song of the Old Love They thought the tide of grief would flow Unchecked through future years; But where is all their anguish now, Well, let them fight for honor's breath, Or pleasure's shade pursue: The dweller in the land of death And, if their eyes should watch and weep She would not, in her tranquil sleep, Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound, There is no need of other sound To soothe my lady's dreams. 1097 Emily Bronte [1818-1848] SONG OF THE OLD LOVE From "Supper at the Mill" WHEN sparrows build, and the leaves break forth, My old sorrow wakes and cries, For I know there is dawn in the far, far north, And a scarlet sun doth rise; Like a scarlet fleece the snow-field spreads, And the icy founts run free, And the bergs begin to bow their heads, O my lost love, and my own, own love, Is there never a chink in the world above And now thou wilt hear me no more-no more |