Random Poetry List LXXII
The dead abide with us. Though stark and cold
Earth seem to grip them, they are with us still:
They have forged our chains of being, for good or ill,
And their invisible hands these hands yet hold.
Our perishable bodies are the mould
In which their strong imperishable will
Mortality's deep yearning to fulfil
Hath grown incorporate through dim time untold:
Vibrations infinite of life in death,
As a star's travelling light survives its star!
So may we hold our lives that, when we are
The fate of those who then will draw this breath,
They shall not drag us to their judgment bar
And curse the heritage that we bequeath.
Mathilde Blind (1841-1896)
Originally e-mailed on Wednesday, September 12, 2001 @ 7:20 PM.
Lane Core Jr. CIW P Tue. 09/12/06 07:25:01 AM
Categorized as Literary & Random Poetry List.