Volume Ii Part 98 (1/2)

AFTER

A little time for laughter, A little time to sing, A little time to kiss and cling, And no more kissing after.

A little while for scheming Love's unperfected schemes; A little time for golden dreams, Then no more any dreaming.

A little while 'twas given To me to have thy love; Now, like a ghost, alone I move About a ruined heaven.

A little time for speaking Things sweet to say and hear; A time to seek, and find thee near, Then no more any seeking.

A little time for saying Words the heart breaks to say; A short sharp time wherein to pray, Then no more need of praying;

But long, long years to weep in, And comprehend the whole Great grief that desolates the soul, And eternity to sleep in.

Philip Bourke Marston [1850-1887]

AFTER SUMMER

We'll not weep for summer over,-- No, not we: Strew above his head the clover,-- Let him be!

Other eyes may weep his dying, Shed their tears There upon him, where he's lying With his peers.

Unto some of them he proffered Gifts most sweet; For our hearts a grave he offered,-- Was this meet?

All our fond hopes, praying, perished In his wrath,-- All the lovely dreams we cherished Strewed his path.

Shall we in our tombs, I wonder, Far apart, Sundered wide as seas can sunder Heart from heart,

Dream at all of all the sorrows That were ours,-- Bitter nights, more bitter morrows; Poison-flowers

Summer gathered, as in madness, Saying, ”See, These are yours, in place of gladness,-- Gifts from me”?

Nay, the rest that will be ours Is supreme,-- And below the poppy flowers Steals no dream.

Philip Bourke Marston [1850-1887]

ROCOCO

Take hand and part with laughter; Touch lips and part with tears; Once more and no more after, Whatever comes with years.

We twain shall not remeasure The ways that left us twain; Nor crush the lees of pleasure From sanguine grapes of pain.

We twain once well in sunder, What will the mad G.o.ds do For hate with me, I wonder, Or what for love with you?

Forget them till November, And dream there's April yet, Forget that I remember, And dream that I forget.

Time found our tired love sleeping, And kissed away his breath; But what should we do weeping, Though light love sleep to death?