Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DEAD TO THE LIVING, by EDITH BLAND NESBIT Poet's Biography First Line: In the childhood of april, while purple woods Last Line: And the eyes that I always see. Alternate Author Name(s): Nesbit, E.; Bland, Mrs. Hubert Subject(s): Socialism | ||||||||
Work while it is day : the night cometh, when no man can work IN the childhood of April, while purple woods With the young year's blood in them smiled, I passed through the lanes and the wakened fields, And stood by the grave of the child. And the pain awoke that is never dead Though it sometimes sleeps, and again It set its teeth in this heart of mine, And fastened its claws in my brain: It was hard and hard that the little hands And the little well-loved head Should be out of reach of our living lips, And be side by side with the dead. For with trees about where the brown birds build, And with long green grass above, She lies in the cold sweet breast of earth Beyond the reach of our love; Whatever befalls in the coarse loud world, We know she will never wake. When I thought of the sorrow she might have known, I was almost glad for her sake. . . . Tears might have tired those kiss-closed eyes, Grief hardened the mouth I kissed; I was almost glad that my dear was dead Because of the pain she had missed. Oh, if I could but have died a child With a white child-soul like hers, As pure as the wind-flowers down in the copse, Where the soul of the springtime stirs; Or if I had only done with it all, And might lie by her side unmoved! I envied the very clods of earth Their place near the child I loved. And my soul rose up in revolt at life, As I stood dry-eyed by her grave, When sudden the grass of the churchyard sod Rolled back like a green smooth wave; The brown earth looked like the brown sea rocks, The tombstones were white like spray, And white like surf were the curling folds Of the shrouds where the dead men lay; For each in his place with his quiet face I saw the dead lie low, Who had worked and suffered and found life sad, So many sad years ago. Unchanged by time I saw them lie As when first they were laid to rest, The tired eyes closed, the sad lips still, And the work-worn hands on the breast. There were some who had found the green world so grey, They had left it before their time, And some were little ones like my dear, And some had died in their prime; And some were old, they had had their fill Of bitter unfruitful hours; And I knew that none of them, none, had known A flower of a hope like ours! Through their shut eyelids the dead looked up, And without a voice they said: 'We lived without hope, without hope we died, And hopeless we lie here dead; And death is better than life that draws Pain in, as it draws in breath, If life never dreams of a coming day When life shall not envy death. Through the dark of our hours and our times we lived, Uncheered by a single ray Of such hope as lightens the lives of you Who are finding life hard to-day; With our little lanterns of human love We lighted our dark warm night -- But you in the chill of the dawn are set With your face to the eastern light. Freedom is waiting with hands held out Till you tear the veil from her face -- And when once men have seen the light of her eyes, And felt her divine embrace The light of the world will be risen indeed, And will shine in the eyes of men, And those who come after will find life fair, And their lives worth living then! Will you strive to the light in your loud rough world, That these things may come to pass, Or lie in the shadow beside the child, And strive to the sun through the grass?' 'My world while I may, 'I cried; 'but you Whose lives were as dark as your grave?' 'We too are a part of the coming light,' They called through the smooth green wave. Their white shrouds gleamed as the flood of green Rolled over and hid them from me -- Hid all but the little hands and the hair, And the eyes that I always see. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 4. CONCLUSION by EDWARD CARPENTER THE SOCIALIST AND THE SUFFRAGIST by CHARLOTTE PERKINS STETSON GILMAN THE NEW MILLENNIUM; A VISION IN THE STRAND by ANDREW LANG MICE by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY WHY I VOTED THE SOCIALIST TICKET by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY A LITTLE SONG ABOUT CHARITY by THOMAS MCGRATH A WARRANT FOR PABLO NERUDA by THOMAS MCGRATH BLUES FOR THE OLD REVOLUTIONARY WOMAN by THOMAS MCGRATH BLUES FOR WARREN by THOMAS MCGRATH A BALLAD OF CANTERBURY by EDITH BLAND NESBIT |
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