And the sweet theme unbearable, she prays
The song-bird cease! So, on the tale I dare,
Your "hush!" your wistful "hush!" broke like prayer.
UNAVAILING
"Never," you said, "never this side the grave,
And what shall come hereafter, who may know?
Whether we e'en shall guess the way we go,
Passing beneath Death's mystic architrave
Silence or song, dumb sleep or cheerful hours?"
O lady, you have questioned, answer too.
You—you to die—silence and gloom for you:
Dead song, dead lights, dead graces, and dead flowers?
It is not so: the foolish trivial end,
The inconsequent paltry Nothing—gone—gone all;
The genius of the ageless Something spend
Itself within this little earthly wall:
The commonplace conception, that we reap
Reward of drudge and ploughman—idle sleep!
YOU SHALL LIVE ON
You shall live on triumphant, you shall take
Your place among the peerless, fearless ones;
And those who loved you here shall tell their sons
To honour every woman for your sake.
And those your Peers shall say, "Others are pure,
Others are noble, others too have vowed,
And for a vow have suffered; but she bowed
Her own soul and another's to endure.
She smote the being more to her than all,—
Her own soul and the world,—a truth to hold,
Faith with the dead; and hung a heavy pall