Classic Poem

(In Memoriam)

Altho' a while
His eyes are blind,
His eyes are blind,
Which were so blue —
Altho' a while
He cannot smile
With the rare smile
That once we knew —
Altho' his bright and vivid mind
Illume no more his mobile face,
Yet we who love him ever find
The thought of him in every place.

Altho' his body from our view
Be hidden in a narrow grave,
No tomb can hold a heart so true
And strong and brave.
Not only in the deeds he wrought,
Not merely in the written scroll,
But, subtly tuning every thought,
We feel the presence of his soul.

Has he a wider being found —
A wider scope for mind and will?
If brain and soul in wedlock bound,
Give birth to sense of sight and sound,
Then maugre Death we will believe
That some new wedlock nobler still
May ampler consciousness conceive,
And higher purposes fulfil.

Why should a spirit be aware,
Only by throb of heart and brain,
Of hope, and memory, and despair,
And happiness, and pain?
Why should it have a conscious being
But by the senses five?
Have only eyes the power of seeing?
Might not a soul in another Karma thrive?
Are not the flowers, and the stars, and the winds alive?

What sound and light,
Hearing and sight,
Mean to a lily tall and white —
What the curving petals disclose —
Joys or woes —
What a star
Dreams afar,
No mortal knows!

But we, in the mesh
Of the weary flesh,
We, who are saved from the doom of death
By the fickle blood, and the feeble breath,
We who have only the right to live
In the little world the senses give —
We may surely surmise and dream
That the sap which flows
In a living stream —
That the sap which flows
In lily and rose,
As the blood in our body comes and goes, —
May mean a world of light and sound
To a conscious soul in the calyx bound,
May quicken the hearing and kindle the sight
Of a soul in the petals red and white,
And waken senses more subtle and fine
Than these sullen senses of yours and mine.

Can the strange subtle essence, thought,
Can the warm love, the strenuous will
Perish, and be a thing of naught,
Simply because a heart is still?
Nay, his great spirit must exist
Dormant, or in another guise,
Though God have sent a heavy mist
To hide him from our human eyes.
So, if once more the blood should beat
In the same strong brain,
We know that we should surely meet
Our friend again.
And now perchance
When the green leaves dance
On the waving trees,
When the roses wake,
And the lilies shake,
He hears and sees.

In other Karma his soul may dwell;
To other motions it may be wed,
But oh, we know that he is not dead,
The noble friend that we know so well.