Part 6 (1/2)
III.--PLAINT OF FRIENDs.h.i.+P BY DEATH BROKEN
(R. P., LOOS, 1915)
G.o.d, if Thou livest, Thine eye on me bend, And stay my grief and bring my pain to end: Pain for my lost, the deepest, rarest friend _Man ever had, whence groweth this despair_.
I had a friend: but, O! he is now dead; I had a vision: for which he has bled: I had happiness: but it is fled.
_G.o.d help me now, for I must needs despair._
His eyes were dark and sad, yet never sad; In them moved sombre figures sable-clad; They were the deepest eyes man ever had, They were my solemn joy--_now my despair_.
In my perpetual night they on me look, Reading me slowly; and I cannot brook Their silent beauty, for nor crack nor nook Can cover me but they shall find me there.
His face was straight, his mouth was wide yet trim; His hair was tangled black, and through its dim Softness his perplexed hand would writhe and swim-- Hands that were small on arms strong-knit yet spare.
He stood no taller than our common span, Swam but nor farther leaped nor faster ran; I know him spirit now, who seemed a man.
_G.o.d help me now, for I must needs despair._
His voice was low and clear, yet it could rise And beat in indignation at the skies; Then no man dared to meet his fire-filled eyes, And even I, his own friend, did not dare.
With humorous wistfulness he spoke to us, Yet there was something more mysterious, Beyond his words or silence, glorious: I know not what, but we could feel it there.
I mind now how we sat one winter night While past his open window raced the bright Snow-torrent golden in the hot firelight....
I see him smiling at the streamered air.
I watched him to the open window go, And lean long smiling, whispering to the snow, Play with his hands amid the fiery flow And when he turned it flamed amid his hair.
Without arose a sudden bell's huge clang Until a thousand bells in answer rang And midnight Oxford hummed and reeled and sang Under the whitening fury of the air.
His figure standing in the fiery room....
Behind him the snow seething through the gloom....
The great bells shaking, thundering out their doom....
Soft Fiery Snow and Night his being were.
Yet he could be simply glad and take his choice, Walking spring woods, mimicking each bird voice; When he was glad we learned how to rejoice: If the birds sing, 'tis to my spite they dare.
All women loved him, yet his mother won His tenderness alone, for Moon and Sun And Rain were for him sister, brother, loved one, And in their life he took an equal share.
Strength he had, too; strength of unrusted will b.u.t.tressed his natural charity, and ill Fared it with him who sought his good to kill: He was its Prince and Champion anywhere.
Yet he had weakness, for he burned too fast; And his unrecked-of body at the last He in impatience on the bayonets cast, Body whose spirit had outsoared them there.
I had a friend, but, O! he is now dead.
Fate would not let me follow where he led.
In him I had happiness. But he is dead.
_G.o.d help me now, for I must needs despair._