TO-DAY is theirs — the unforgotten dead — For strange and sweet communion set apart, When the strong, living heart Beats in the dissolute dust, the darkened bed, Rebuilds the form beloved, the vanished face, Relights the blown-out lamps o' the faded eyes, Touches the clay-bound lips to tenderest speech, Saying, "Awake — Arise!" To-day the warm hands of the living reach To chafe the cold hands of the long-loved dead; Once more the lonely head Leans on the loving breast, and feels the rain Of falling tears, and listens yet again To the dear voice — the voice that never in vain Could sound the old behest. Each seeks his own to-day; but, ah, not I — I enter not That sacred shrine beneath the solemn sky; I claim no commerce with the unforgot. My thoughts and prayers must be Even where mine own fixed lot hereafter lies, With that great company For whom no wandering breeze of memory sighs Through the dim prisons of imperial Death: They in the black unfathomed oubliette For ever and ever set — They, the poor dead whom none remembered. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE COMING OF SNOW by HAYDEN CARRUTH LETTER TO MAXINE SULLIVAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SOCIOLOGY OF TOYOTAS AND JADE CHRYSANTHEMUMS by HAYDEN CARRUTH ALL FOOLS' CALENDER by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON RHYTHM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |