Monday, October 17, 2011
5:24 PM |
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When the grey film obscured my eyes,
And convention blurred my native sight,
He scraped away the scales,
And showed anew the hues of light.
Such has been Gerard for me;
He rang anew the bells.
When romance began to shrink,
And beauty was found only in the fair,
She flickered the worldy veil,
And I saw glory in the mundane and bare.
Such has been Lucy Maud for me;
She stored russets in urns vermeil.
When I lost the heart of great deeds,
And consigned the heroic days to dust,
He set to fire my wooden heart,
And in the return of honour I now trust.
Such has been Lord Alfred for me;
He spurred man from idle ports to start.
When light ideals shot up too quick, too high,
And I forgot the needs supplied by earth,
She tapped me at my flimsy trunk,
Think on love and lucre without dearth,
Such has been Jane for me;
She who wed manners with spunk.
When I was in darkness wandering,
And doubted the fruits of th’ Ecclesial tree,
They shook the branches with bright annals,
And scandal’s sword no more cut me.
Such have been the Banims for me;
They etched the light in the form of Gaels.
When I thought of life too simply,
And forgot the twofold end of striving,
He unfurled sage Solomon’s scroll,
And cried, though much is good, not all is thriving.
Such has been the Shropshire Lad for me;
He who lived by the bell’s solemn toll.
So often has my soul been lifted up,
By the words from your own vital spark,
Yet how my spirit sinks when I do read
That on life’s sea, yours was a battered barque.
Yet, your souls, though elsewhere, still are,
And for love of ye, I may yet bleed.
Do ye dwell with the blessed, my darlings?
Then smile at my gesture and laugh like a saint.
Or are ye twined with purgatorial flame?
Then let me render up, without constraint,
My voluntary pains for ye, my tears,
To get ye hence, to your gift’s fount, to your true Aim.
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