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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=533750" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Love-Laurel</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! that God once would touch my lips with song<br>To pierce, as prayer doth heaven, earth’s breast of iron,<br> So that with sweet mouth I might sing to thee,<br> O sweet dead singer buried by the sea,<br>A song, to woo thee, as a wooing siren,<br>Out of that silent sleep which seals too long<br> Thy mouth of melody. <br>For, if live lips might speak awhile to dead,<br>Or any speech could reach the sad world under<br> This world of ours, song surely should awake<br> Thee who didst dwell in shadow for song’s sake!<br>Alas! thou canst not hear the voice of thunder,<br>Nor low dirge over thy low-lying head<br> The winds of morning make. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down through the clay there comes no sound of these;<br>Down in the grave there is no sign of Summer,<br> Nor any knowledge of the soft-eyed Spring;<br> But Death sits there, with outspread ebon wing,<br>Closing with dust the mouth of each new-comer<br>To that mute land, where never sound of seas<br> Is heard, and no birds sing. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now thou hast found the end of all thy days<br>Hast thou found any heart a vigil keeping<br> For thee among the dead—some heart that heard<br> Thy singing when thou wert a brown, sweet bird<br>Gray Æons gone, in some old forest sleeping<br>Beneath the seas long since? in Death’s dim ways<br> Has thy heart any word? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">For surely those in whom the deathless spark<br>Of song is kindled, sang from the beginning<br> If life were always? But the old desires—<br> Do they exist when sad-eyed Hope expires?<br>How live the dead? what crowns have they for winning?<br>Have they, to warm them in the dreamless dark,<br> For sun earth’s central fires? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Are the dead dead indeed whom we call dead?<br>Has God no life but this of ours for giving?—<br> When that they took thee by each well-known place,<br> Stark in thy coffin with a cold white face,<br>What thought, O Brother, hadst thou of the living?<br>What of the sun that round thee glory shed?<br> What of the fair day’s grace? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Is thy new life made up of memories<br>Or dreams that lull the dead, bright visions bringing<br> Of Spring above! Are thy days short or long?<br> Thou who wert master of our singing throng<br>Mayhap in death thou hast not lost thy singing,<br>But chauntst unheard, beside the moaning sea,<br> A solitary song. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">The chance spade turns up skulls. God help the dead<br>And thee whose singing days have all passed over—<br> Thee, whom the gold-haired Spring shall seek in vain<br> When at the glad year’s doors she stands again,<br>Remembering the song-garlands thou hast wove her<br>In years gone by: but all these years have fled<br> With all their joy and pain. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">My soul laughed out to hear my heart speak so,<br>And sprang forth skyward, as an eagle, hoping<br> To look upon thy soul with living eyes,<br> Until it came to where our dim life dies,<br>And dead suns darkly for a grave are groping<br>Through cycles of immeasurable woe,<br> Stone-blind in the blind skies. <br>The stars walk shuddering on that awful verge<br>From which my soul, with swift and fearless motion,<br> Clove the black depths, and sought for God and thee;<br> But God dwells where nor stars nor suns there be—<br>No shore there is to His Eternal Ocean;<br>A thousand systems are a fringe of surge<br> On that great starless sea. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">And thou wert not. So that, with weary plumes,<br>My soul through the great void its way came winging<br> To earth again. “What hope for him who sings<br> Is there?” it sighed. “Death ends all sweetest things.”<br>When lo! there came a swell of mighty singing,<br>Flooding all space, and swift athwart the glooms<br> A flash of sudden wings. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Dreamer of dreams, thy songs and dreams are done.<br>Down where thou sleepest in earth’s secret bosom<br> There is no sorrow and no joy for thee,<br> Who canst not see what stars at eve there be,<br>Nor evermore at morn the green dawn blossom<br>Into the golden king-flower of the sun<br> Across the golden sea. <br>But haply there shall come in days to be<br>One who shall hear his own heart beating faster,<br> Plucking a rose sprung from thy heart beneath,<br> And from his soul, as sword from out its sheath,<br>Song shall leap forth where now, O silent master,<br>On thy lone grave beside the sounding sea,<br> I lay this laurel-wreath.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Victor+James+Daley">Victor James Daley</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=533750" data-title="Love-Laurel de Victor James Daley" data-description="Ah! that God once would touch my lips with song
To pierce, as prayer doth heaven, earth’s breast of iron,
 So that with sweet mouth I might sing to thee,
 O sweet dead singer buried by the sea,
A song, to woo thee, as a wooing siren,
Out of that..."></div>
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