Classic Poem

They came to me and told me you were dead, Carrie Rand,
And my heart stopped still and a cloud fell on my path,
But the next minute I knew that what they said was not true —
I knew that you were still alive somewhere and somehow continuing your round of succor,
And so I went about my business again contented with the rhythm of the average day.

I saw you as you sat in your chair in the beautiful sunlight, Carrie Rand,
And I saw the world's poor pass in procession before you and receive your benediction,
And I saw lightnings flash from your resolute eyes towards the children of chaos,
And I saw lovebeams flash from your melting eyes towards the children of order,
And all as you sat in your chair and said nothing and did not move,
And all as you sat in your chair with the forerays of a new earth cast into your illumined face,
You, Carrie Rand, grown young in age again in the surprises of springtide years,
Among the youngest of those who hope the youngest in hope forever.

They told me you were dead, Carrie Rand: dead, dead:
But that word death — what meaning has it to me?
It does not tell me anything of the time of the day or of the night, or of the time of eternity,
It does not fill any blank spaces of desire or open any closed doors of dreams,
It does not carry any of the burdens of life or make easier the mysteries of defeat and corruption:
It is a good word for the undertaker, it is a passable word for the priest, but for love, dear love —
It is not a word that fits with love in any heres or hereafters of the stars.
When they say death I do not see your face, Carrie Rand,
But when they say life I see your face, Carrie Rand:
Death, that takes down the sign from the doorpost and sells to any bidder the few poor things that remain:
Death is not a word that fits with love, Carrie Rand:
Death is a dead word that will not fit with you, Carrie Rand.

What do you mean, my brother, when you speak of death?
Do you mean that life passes a sentence upon life?
Do you mean that the whole account of life can in any way be charged off?
Do you mean that in the throw of the dice death comes up doubles and life is outfigured by death?
I have tried to take this master woman and measure her by the measure of death but death failed to measure her,
I have found that she could only be measured by the measure of the fullest life and then but barely measured.

A few days ago you were in the midst of us, Carrie Rand:
You sat in your chair and were silent and your silence was as powerful as armies on the march,
You sat in your chair and talked to us and your wisdom was the counsel of universal service,
You called success after the seekers, you cried hurrah to those who arrived,
Through you heroism rose to its best renown and proved its faith on impossible peaks,
Through you the distant world and the near world were brought together and understood each other,
Through you, as you sat in your chair — you, who did not ask anything: you, who gave everything:
The measure of your acclaim was the exhaustless fuel of revolution
Out of you were draughts of pity paid, out of you were notes of love endorsed,
Your oldest old age was the youngest youth of the world
If the bravest were brave you were braver still,
If the simplest were modest you were more modest still,
You took the great cause to your heart and gave your great heart to the cause,
You refreshed the timeworn years with immortal jubilation.

They came to me and told me you were dead, Carrie Rand
And my heart stopped still and a cloud fell on my path,
But the next minute I knew that what they said was not true —
I knew that you were still alive somewhere and somehow continuing your round of succor,
And so I went about my business again contented with the rhythm of the average day.