Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ENDING ALL, by RICHARD SOLOMON GEDNEY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ENDING ALL, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Thou art gone from me, psyche, far away
Last Line: United by our god!
Subject(s): Death; Grief; Love; Mourning; Dead, The; Sorrow; Sadness; Bereavement


Thou art gone from me, Psyche, far away
Into dim regions that I may not tread;
And now I count the minutes of the day,
And wish that I were dead.

Thou art gone from me, Psyche, in thy bloom,—
The angels thought my happiness too deep;
Now darkening with past joys the present gloom,
I sit alone and weep.

Thou art gone from me, Psyche, evermore,—
And I must shut me up in my own soul;
Where, constant as the wave-beat on the shore,
I hear the death-bell toll.

Dark years have fallen between us like a cloud,
And earth and sea combine our hands to sever,
And no kind heart turns to me from the crowd,
I am alone for ever.

Waking and musing 'neath the pale lamp-light,
My life flows onward like an idle stream;
Slow falling through the vigils of the night,
A dream within a dream.

And, I must speak, dear Psyche, once again,
Ere Azrael takes the pen from my weak hold,
Must tell thee how I loved through joy and pain,
For soon my lips are cold.—

I risked my all upon the die and lost,
And now Fate claims the stake which she has won;
Broken and weary, worn and tempest-tossed,
My course is nearly run.

Men will speak evil, Psyche, when I die;
They will heap falsehoods on my fallen head;
They will insult the grave wherein I lie
Silent among the dead.

And I would cast upon thy heart a light
That should so dazzle thee, mine own beloved,
That thou shouldst say, "If men be wrong or right,
"I only know he loved!"

Know it, dear Psyche, know it through the years!
I love as I have loved—more than man may,
That, when I turn to seek thee through my tears,
God meets me in the way.

And twice the rod hath seared my rebel brow,
And now His hand is lift again to smite,
And I must bid farewell unto thee now,
Ere I am quenched in night.

Mourn not, dear Psyche,—better it be so
Than I should live to idolise thee still;
It is not wrath but kindness deals the blow,
To save from deeper ill.

So let it be;—but thou, when I am dead,
Say, if they tell how far my steps have roved,
"It may be true or false what men have said,
"I only know he loved!"

And with this kindly trust to smooth my bed,
I lay me uncomplaining down to sleep,
And pillowing on thy faith my weary head,
I soon shall slumber deep.

And so Heaven bless thee, and farewell, dear love!
Let not thy heart rebel against the rod;
We yet may be, in those bright realms above,
United by our God!





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