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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=464735" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Dead Moment</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE world is changed between us, never more <br>Shall the dawn rise and seek another mate <br>Over the hill-tops; never can the shore <br>Spread out her ragged tresses to the roar <br>Of the sea passionate, <br>Moon-chained, and for a season love-forbid; <br>Never shall shift the sullen thunder's lid <br>At lightning-lash, and never shall the night <br>Throw the wild stars about, <br>Nor the day flicker out <br>Against the evening's breath; but this shall creep-- <br>This moment on us, to make different <br>The face of every day's intent, <br>And change the brow of sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">What can we name it? Oh, the whitest word <br>Would leave a stain upon that moment's mouth! <br>The sweetest piping heard <br>By wearying birds a-South <br>Would shake its silence, let no word be said; <br>What need of name or music hath the dead? <br>Too far for call, too faint for song it is, <br>This ghost of ours, that you have buried deep; <br>Less earth than any violet nourishes <br>Its fragile stem would keep; <br>And we could lose it in the frailest shell, <br>Or lily's wannest bell; <br>In any rose's urn that dust might dwell.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh! to forsake it thus, <br>Our only one, our starveling piteous! <br>Even as men who garner and lock up <br>Gold chasuble and cup,-- <br>Their alabaster and their tourmaline,-- <br>Their sandal-wood and wine, <br>Will give their dearest to the earth to keep, <br>Housed among strangers, and will let the clay <br>Or oozing river-bed <br>Rot all their wealth away, <br>While they go home to sleep! <br>Will let the wild roots of the bramble clutch, <br>And see the careless sod <br>Trample it down, and bruise with common touch <br>All that they knew of glory and of God!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">(Who would not house a thief so house their dead!) <br>In the blind dark with wolf-winds overhead. <br>When night sucks honey from the hive of day <br>They lie, while April, with her merry clout, <br>Flings the white dust about; <br>When the swift silences that ride the Spring <br>Whip on their misty chariots, and wring <br>Foam from the bridled lips of May; <br>What time the sick moon looks up yellowly <br>Out of the pillowed sky, <br>Or when doth sing <br>Some crazy bird, aslant upon a bough <br>A song that makes him, just this time of year, <br>A poet, and can never sing again; <br>When the pale lips of rain <br>Tremble above the eyelids of the plain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! would you hide our one dead moment, now, <br>Even as they, my dear? <br>Who into one grave hurdle grace and mirth, <br>Beating down Beauty with a noisy spade, <br>Nor dream that 'neath the stunned and senseless earth <br>Are all their riches laid;-- <br>Such gold as they shall never see again, <br>Such wine as shall not stain <br>Their shallow cups! All beauty, all delight, <br>Treasure, unbarterable and bright, <br>All lie there in the cold, and in the night.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay, you will have it so? <br>Let all its sweetness go, <br>Brief, exquisite? <br>Then take it hence; but make a wreath for it <br>And let us sing for it a requiem, <br>Not the few strangled words above the dead <br>That those, whose hearts condemn, <br>Mutter, for having left so long unsaid, <br>Pity or praise, to ears desiring them. <br>Bury it not as something sick and shamed, <br>Unfathered and unnamed. <br>Nay, break sweet spices, myrrh and cedar bring, <br>Bury it as a king, <br>Or some belovèd child that lies beneath <br>The rose whose name he knew not, wondering <br>Why his young mother wove it in a wreath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">For, look you, and remember what it gave,-- <br>Those gifts, that naught and none can take away! <br>How it makes red as rose each pallid day, <br>Each coward moment, brave; <br>And how each wingless heel of Misery <br>It sandals with a hope, and sends a-sky! <br>While we await the hour that somewhere goes <br>Unmatched, unmated . . . it shall not be yet: <br>Night's heavy eyelids close <br>On tears; and leave the Morning's pillow wet. <br>Weep not, though said the requiem, flung the wreath; <br>Only when you forget, and I forget, <br>Weep for that moment's death.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Muriel+Stuart">Muriel Stuart</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=464735" data-title="The Dead Moment de Muriel Stuart" data-description="THE world is changed between us, never more 
Shall the dawn rise and seek another mate 
Over the hill-tops; never can the shore 
Spread out her ragged tresses to the roar 
Of the sea passionate, 
Moon-chained, and for a season love-forbid; 
Never ..."></div>
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