~This was a poet that loved God's breath;
his life was a passionate quest;
he looked down deep in the wells of death,
and now he is taking his rest.~
To A. L. Gordon
In night-long days, in aeons where all Time's nights are one; where life and death sing paeans as of Greeks and Galileans, never begun or done;
where fate, the slow swooping condor, comes glooming all the sky — as you have pondered I ponder, as you have wandered I wander, as you have died, shall I die?
Love and Death
Death? is it death you give? So be it! O Death, thou hast been long my friend, and now thy pale cool cheek shall have my kiss, while the faint breath expires on thy still lips, O lovely Death!
Come then, loose hands, fair Life, without a wail! We've had good hours together, and you were sweet what time love whispered with the nightingale, tho' ever your music by the lark's would fail.
Come then, loose hands! Our lover time is done.
Now is the marriage with the eternal sun.
The hours are few that rest, are few and fleet.
Good-bye! The game is lost: the game is won.
Thomas William Heney.
Absence