You think, perhaps, 'Ah, could she know How much I loved her!' Dear, I do! And you may say, 'Of this new awe 'Of heart which makes her fancies law, 'These watchful duties of despair, 'She does not dream, she cannot care!' Frederick, you see how false that is, Or how could I have written this? And, should it ever cross your mind That, now and then, you were unkind, You never, never were at all! Remember that! It's natural For one like Mr. Vaughan to come, From a morning's useful pastime, home, And greet, with such a courteous zest, His handsome wife, still newly dress'd, As if the Bird of Paradise Should daily change her plumage thrice. He's always well, she's always gay. Of course! But he who toils all day, And comes home hungry, tired, or cold, And feels 'twould do him good to scold His wife a little, let him trust Her love, and say the things he must, Till sooth'd in mind by meat and rest. If, after that, she's well caress'd, And told how good she is, to bear His humour, fortune makes it fair. Women like men to be like men; That is, at least, just now and then. Thus, I have nothing to forgive, But those first years, (how could I live!) When, though I really did behave So stupidly, you never gave One unkind word or look at all: As if I was some animal You pitied! Now, in later life, You used me like a proper Wife. You feel, Dear, in your present mood, Your Jane, since she was kind and good, A child of God, a living soul, Was not so different, on the whole, From Her who had a little more Of God's best gifts: but, oh, be sure, My dear, dear Love, to take no blame Because you could not feel the same Towards me, living, as when dead. A hungry man must needs think bread So sweet! and, only at their rise And setting, blessings, to the eyes, Like the sun's course, grow visible. If you are sad, remember well, Against delusions of despair, That memory sees things as they were, And not as they were misenjoy'd, And would be still, if ought destroy'd The glory of their hopelessness: So that, in truth, you had me less In days when necessary zeal For my perfection made you feel My faults the most, than now your love Forgets but where it can approve. You gain by loss, if that seem'd small Possess'd, which, being gone, turns all Surviving good to vanity. Oh, Fred, this makes it sweet to die! Say to yourself: ''Tis comfort yet 'I made her that which I regret; 'And parting might have come to pass 'In a worse season; as it was, 'Love an eternal temper took, 'Dipp'd, glowing, in Death's icy brook!' Or say, 'On her poor feeble head 'This might have fallen: 'tis mine instead! 'And so great evil sets me free 'Henceforward from calamity. 'And, in her little children, too, 'How much for her I yet can do!' And grieve not for these orphans even; For central to the love of Heaven Is each child as each star to space. This truth my dying love has grace To trust with a so sure content, I fear I seem indifferent. You must not think a child's small heart Cold, because it and grief soon part. Fanny will keep them all away, Lest you should hear them laugh and play, Before the funeral's over. Then I hope you'll be yourself again, And glad, with all your soul, to find How God thus to the sharpest wind Suits the shorn lambs. Instruct them, Dear, For my sake, in His love and fear. And show how, till their journey's done, Not to be weary they must run. Strive not to dissipate your grief By any lightness. True relief Of sorrow is by sorrow brought. And yet for sorrow's sake, you ought To grieve with measure. Do not spend So good a power to no good end! Would you, indeed, have memory stay In the heart, lock up and put away Relics and likenesses and all Musings, which waste what they recall. True comfort, and the only thing To soothe without diminishing A prized regret, is to match here, By a strict life, God's love severe. Yet, after all, by nature's course, Feeling must lose its edge and force. Again you'll reach the desert tracts Where only sin or duty acts. But, if love always lit our path, Where were the trial of our faith? Oh, should the mournful honeymoon Of death be over strangely soon, And life-long resolutions, made In grievous haste, as quickly fade, Seeming the truth of grief to mock, Think, Dearest, 'tis not by the clock That sorrow goes! A month of tears Is more than many, many years Of common time. Shun, if you can, However, any passionate plan. Grieve with the heart; let not the head Grieve on, when grief of heart is dead; For all the powers of life defy A superstitious constancy. The only bond I hold you to Is that which nothing can undo. A man is not a young man twice; And if, of his young years, he lies A faithful score in one wife's breast, She need not mind who has the rest. In this do what you will, dear Love, And feel quite sure that I approve. And, should it chance as it may be, Give her my wedding-ring from me; And never dream that you can err T'wards me by being good to her; Nor let remorseful thoughts destroy In you the kindly flowering joy And pleasure of the natural life. But don't forget your fond, dead Wife. And, Frederick, should you ever be Tempted to think your love of me All fancy, since it drew its breath So much more sweetly after death, Remember that I never did A single thing you once forbid; All poor folk liked me; and, at the end, Your Cousin call'd me 'Dearest Friend!' And, now, 'twill calm your grief to know, -- You, who once loved Honoria so, -- There's kindness, that's look'd kindly on, Between her Emily and John. Thus, in your children, you will wed! And John seems @3so@1 much comforted, (Like Isaac when @3his@1 mother died And fair Rebekah was his bride), By his new hope, for losing me! So @3all@1 is happiness, you see. And that reminds me how, last night, I dreamt of heaven, with great delight. A strange, kind Lady watch'd my face, Kiss'd me, and cried, 'His hope found grace!' She bade me then, in the crystal floor, Look at myself, myself no more; And bright within the mirror shone Honoria's smile, and yet my own! 'And, when you talk, I hear,' she sigh'd, 'How much he loved her! Many a bride 'In heaven such countersemblance wears 'Through what Love deem'd rejected prayers.' She would have spoken still; but, lo, One of a glorious troop, aglow From some great work, towards her came, And she so laugh'd, 'twas such a flame, Aaron's twelve jewels seem'd to mix With the lights of the Seven Candlesticks. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A NICE CORRESPONDENT by FREDERICK LOCKER-LAMPSON THE NIGHT SONG by MARY DELL ALLEN THE BATTLE OF QUEENSTOWN by WILLIAM BANKER JR. TWELVE SONNETS: 4. LONELY SEASONS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) THE LITTLE OLD WOMEN; TO VICTOR HUGO by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE ABRAHAM by JOHN STUART BLACKIE |