Here, as of old, the beauty above,
And its shadow there below;
Why was their message jubilant then,
And their meaning now but woe?
Nay, not the same, O fool, as of yore!
These be other leaves that grow,
Other the harvests, other the waves;
Other the breezes that blow.
Sameness in sooth, but difference too;
And a simple change I know,
Within beholder, without in scene,
It may alter meaning so!
Shadow of her who looked down with me,
In the depths so long ago—
Were all your archness glimmering there,
Would the picture breathe but woe?
Joseph O’Connor.
A FAREWELL.
HATH any loved you well down there,
Summer or winter through?
Down there, have you found any fair
Laid in the grave with you?
Is death’s long kiss a richer kiss
Than mine was wont to be?
Or have you gone to some far bliss,
And quite forgotten me?
What soft enamouring of sleep
Hath you in some soft way?
What charmed death holdeth you with deep
Strange lure by night and day?
A little space below the grass,
Out of the sun and shade;
But worlds away from me, alas!
Down there where you are laid!
My bright hair’s waved and wasted gold,
What is it now to thee
Whether the rose-red life I hold
Or white death holdeth me?
Down there you love the grave’s own green,
And evermore you rave
Of some sweet seraph you have seen
Or dreamed of in the grave.
There you shall lie as you have lain,
Though in the world above
Another live your life again,
Loving again your love;
Is it not sweet beneath the palm?
Is not the warm day rife
With some long mystic golden calm
Better than love and life?
The broad quaint odorous leaves, like hands
Weaving the fair day through,
Weave sleep no burnished bird withstands,
While death weaves sleep for you;
And many a strange rich breathing sound
Ravishes morn and noon;
And in that place you must have found
Death a delicious swoon.