Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, SONGS TO A.H.R.: 14. LAST LINES, by CALE YOUNG RICE


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

SONGS TO A.H.R.: 14. LAST LINES, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: If I could only go back and find you there
Last Line: "never, oh never more!"
Subject(s): Grief; Hearts; Love; Memory; Sorrow; Sadness


1

If I could only go back and find you there,
Not a dark empty house for sale to strangers;
If I could only go back, and at the stair
Call up and hear you answer and come down,
With love kindling your lips and eyes and hair
The years had silvered with a light as fair
As ever allured my heart to youthful dangers;

If I could only go back, across the Park,
And then a little way to the dear door
Which you will never open any more,
Go back and sit or read with you or talk,
Amid time-treasured books, of the least thing
Of all the thousands that were wont to stir
Our mated thoughts to take contented wing;

If I could only go back ... But oh, I cannot;
Or if I do, only with Memory,
Which they who've known assure me is a friend,
But which I have found a foe without end
Stabbing me with her rapiers of grief
And desolation so relentlessly
That I can only stand stricken and cry,
"Let me forget forever, or let me die!"

2

I lie abed as on a cross,
Pierced by an appeaseless loss.
Stretched and silent, numb and stark,
I lie staring into the dark.

Somewhere overhead in the rain
The night mail is flying again,
Hurrying on till in the height
Hushed and far it leaves but night.

Seeking a faith to ease for me
The ache of the destiny
Death of you has brought I call
"Are you anywhere at all?"
But for answer only hear
The unceasing grind of time's gear.
No night mail will bring to me
Word of you eternally.

3

Grass grows tall in the yard,
And weeds have taken the grass,
But why should that not be now
That your feet will never pass
Over either again
To the flowers that wait your coming?
Or why should not one butterfly only
Flit where the bees are humming?

A sign For Sale stands white
In the ivy by the door,
Like the tomb you lie under
In the place where the dead store
Their memories forever
Against the ravage of sorrow.
Be happy, any who buy this house;
Wait not till tomorrow!

For death has no calendar
To tell the days or the years;
There is neither light nor darkness
In the earth's shrouded biers.
Do not wait till tomorrow.
Grass grows tall by the door --
And I can only turn away moaning
"Never, oh never more!"





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