Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, MY LOVE, by CHARLES V. H. ROBERTS



Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

MY LOVE, by            
First Line: Dearest, there is no one above thee that
Last Line: Unto the rich-crown jeweled seat of paradise.
Subject(s): Death; Heaven; Love - Loss Of; Pain; Dead, The; Paradise; Suffering; Misery


Dearest, there is no one above thee that
I love! That is my answer now and for
All time. Remember this through coming suns!
Remember this before our Final Judge!
Before the treasure He has given us,
To mould our deeds for His all just Assize.

What use to so pretend and hide the truth?
Thou standest to me alone as soul is joined to soul,
Heart, brain, body, all in life or dream
'Neath paling stars and singing winds at dawn,
To waving plains where flame-like flowers bloom,
And vanish with us on the wings of night.

Sweetest eyes that I have ever seen,
Are there such stars in all the firmament,
Or seas more conscious of such wondrous rays?
Youthful laughter, fearless, frank, and free!
Weeping—each tear is but a gem light'ning
Skies into a flame of everlasting Day.

Life and Death agree that I have loved
Thee, in those farthest ages, where Man and Earth
Were still the Breath of God, and souls were merely
Vapors in a Space all planetless.
There we dreamed of fabled lands—in mystic chrism
Plucked Love from out the brighter particles of star-dust.

Can I ply my feelings as I think of thee—
Earth responding to a heaven's smile,
A halo o'er each thought in blissful-setting—
Those aches of partings, or that thou dost suffer
For a moment in the countless ends
That call me from thy presence? Oh! loyal troth!

I bless thy name, thy touch, the tender cadences
Of thy voice—golden harmonies in the stresses
Of Life's Pain. It takes courage in my heart
To realize that thou are mine, but still,
Still greater courage to know that thou must leave
Me for the realms of unconjectured space,
A dimming land, where sad-eyed ghosts walk only.
Thy cheeks to snow in paling Death, those eyes
Twin urns of sleep, thy gorgeous-wingéd soul,
Like some strange bird, sweeps up in silent flight
To waiting angels and their whispered tales.

Oh love, my love! In thy twilights take me, Bird of Death,
To her that makes the music all things sing,
O'er time, o'er space, o'er height, o'er depth—beyond
Unto the rich-crown jeweled seat of Paradise.





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