Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, IN MEMORIAM; SOPHIE JEWETT, by MARGARET SHERWOOD


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

IN MEMORIAM; SOPHIE JEWETT, by                    
First Line: By still lake shore, or oak wood ser
Last Line: With vision of the perfect end.
Subject(s): Jewett, Sophie (1861-1909); Universities & Colleges - Faculty; Wellesley College


BY still lake shore, or oak wood sere,
One time there walked a lady here
In garments green, whose ripples still
Blend with the grass of field and hill.
Through the dim blue of autumn haze,
Through quickening spring's enchanted days,
Erect, serene, she came and went
On her high task of beauty bent.
For us who knew, nor can forget,
The echoes of her laughter yet
Make sudden music in the halls.
For aye these academic walls
Give back that cadenced voice that reads
Poetic tale of knightly deeds,
Her head thrown back in swift-born pride
In one who for his faith had died;
A sudden splendor in her eyes
At finding act of sacrifice.

Earth had her merriment and tears,
Her fine resolve, her quick-stung fears
Of crawling selfishness and sin,
Her quicker faith that good shall win.
This brown world bringing joy and pain
In days of gold, in lashing rain,
Through all its myriad-minded strife
She loved with warmth of human life,
Revelled in every line and hue
Of beauty sea and forest knew.
Sharing her sorrow and her mirth,
We knew her part of blessed earth,
Yet knew she lived, eternally,
The soul's hid life one may not see.
Withdrawn, apart, by night and day,
Her footsteps climbed the holy way,
Up heavenly hills of longing, where
The spirit takes the road of prayer.

Nor dare we doubt that she, who then
Trod the far world beyond our ken,
Walks now, unseen, this earth of ours,
Aware, as once, of sun-touched flowers,
And hylas' plaintive cries, that bring
The pain and peace of earliest spring;
Of June's sweet fragrances, and all
The subtle loveliness of Fall.
In gentle rain, in brightening air,
Lo, she is here, and everywhere!
Nearer than sight, or whispered word,
Yet ours, though untouched, unheard,
As eager as of old to share
The beauty that one may not bear,
So fine its poignancy of joy;
Still busy in her old employ
Of poetry, verse finely wrought
That sets to music noble thought.

One had to seek her then, but see!
Forever waits she silently
Where bitter need or trouble calls.
Alway I hear her light foot-falls
In crowded streets, where hunger waits
At its unnumbered, swarming gates;
And step by step with human ill
Her healing footsteps follow still.
Whenever sudden anguish cries
I see the sweetness of her eyes,
Where quivering shades of sorrow blend
With vision of the perfect end.





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