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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456023" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Perfect Union</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">W.K.C.--3rd MARCH, 1879.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'A free man thinks of nothing so little as of death; and his wisdom is a meditation, not of death, but of life.' --Spinoza.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'DRAW back the curtain, wife,' he said;<br>And, dying, raised his feeble head,<br>As all his gathered soul leaped sheer<br>Into his waning eyes, and yearned<br>After the journeying sun which turned<br>Towards that other hemisphere.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then, as its incandescent bulk<br>Sank slowly, like the foundering hulk<br>Of some lone burning ship at sea,<br>His life set with it--bright as brief--<br>In that invincible belief<br>Of Man's august supremacy.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Truth's vanward hero! Calmly brave<br>Fronting the dumb unfathomed grave<br>With unintimidated eyes;<br>Though not for him, beyond its night,<br>Resuscitated Hope alight<br>Prescient, on peaks of Paradise.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And like some solemn parting word<br>From one belovèd friend on board<br>Bound for some undiscovered shore,<br>To one who stands with straining gaze<br>To catch the last look of a face<br>Which he may see, ah never more--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">So, ere he drifted to the deep<br>Unknowable, the utter sleep,<br>Out, out beyond life's harbour bar,<br>He whispered, 'Perfect! no one knows<br>How perfect!' and his eyes did close<br>Even like a sun-extinguished star.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">His eyes did close: I held his hand:<br>I loved, so came to understand<br>The inmost working of his mind;<br>Yea, in that clasp, I know not how,<br>Did not his life of life then flow<br>Through mine, while mine was left behind?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I know not how, and yet it seems<br>As in some prank of shifting dreams,<br>That it was I who died, not he:<br>And then again, I know not how,<br>I feel new powers upheave and glow,<br>And all his life that stirs in me.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am no longer what I was;<br>My nature is the pictured glass,<br>Where he who lived lives on and on;<br>All ye who loved him, ye may see<br>His spirits still investing me,<br>As moonlight but reflects the sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For ever deepening grows his sway:<br>A voice cries in me night and day:<br>'He'll never die to me, his wife;<br>In our strong love death hath no part;<br>I hold and fold him in my heart--<br>There he shall live while I have life.'</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Mathilde+Blind">Mathilde Blind</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=456023" data-title="Perfect Union de Mathilde Blind" data-description="W.K.C.--3rd MARCH, 1879.

'A free man thinks of nothing so little as of death; and his wisdom is a meditation, not of death, but of life.' --Spinoza.

'DRAW back the curtain, wife,' he said;
And, dying, raised his feeble head,
As all his gathered ..."></div>
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