Classic Poem

Once , in the long ago, when Life and Love,
Walked ever hand in hand;
They came to Earth, from some fair realm above,
And wandered through the land.

Much did they find whereon their art to try,
For then the world was new;
They shook the sunbeams from the bended sky,
And steeped the ground with dew.

Upon the fields the emerald turf they spread,
And clad the hills in green;
They laid the meadows on the vales, and led
The glittering streams between.

Life lifted up the flowers throughout the land,
By woodland, slope and fen;
Love stooped and touched them with her glowing hand,
And they have bloomed since then.

Life taught the birds to build within the brake,
And clothed each fledgling's wing;
Love lifted up her voice, but once, to wake
The songs which now they sing.

Thus, ever hand in hand, they journeyed on
From sea to sun-lit sea:
Their garments had the freshness of the dawn
That wakes the flowering lea.

And, journeying thus, at length they found a child,
New-risen from the sod;
Life frowned, and said, “He is a beast”; Love smiled,
And said, “He is a god.”

Then were their hands disjoined, and from the ground,
Betwixt these twain, arose
A dark and shadowed figure—sorrow-crowned,
And draped in sable woes.

Because that Nature's tenderest demands
Did seem of little worth—
From henceforth, Life and Love their parted hands
Shall join no more on earth.

For this, the flowers shall haste to fail and fade,
The wood and field turn sere;
And all the songsters of the summer glade
Fly, with the changing year.

Life lifted up the child, and gave him breath,
And he did walk between—
Love on the right—Life on the left—and Death
Did follow, all unseen.

“What wilt thou give,” saith Life, “and I will show
Thine eyes the path of fame,
And lead thee, so that after years shall know
And wonder at thy name?”

“All,” saith the child, “all Fate shall bring to me,
And all that fame can give
To heart and mind, all, will I give to thee,
If I shall always live.”

But Love bent low and gently laid his head
Against her broad, white breast—
“What wilt thou give to me?” she softly said,
“And I will give thee rest.”

“Alas!” he answered, “I am now bereft,
Of all I might control.
One gift remains—myself, alone, am left,
To thee I give my soul!”

Then Love put sandals on his naked feet,
And, in her tender care,
Wove him a broidered garment—soft and sweet—
Such as a god might wear.

She girt his body with the golden zone,
Loosed from her own warm breast,
And on his lips the imprint of her own
She passionately pressed.

And in his heart she lit the deathless fire
Which rests not; night nor day;
But still doth turn the soul, with fond desire,
To beauty's path, alway.

So they did journey, and the land was fair,
Each new-born day did seem
Hope's inspiration, as when morning air
Breathes from a woodland stream.

But Life began to weary of the way—
Such fickle heart hath she—
And though Love urged, with tears, she would not stay,
But shook her fair hand free.

Then Death came swiftly up, in silent might,
With arms outstretched and cold;
And bare the child back to the land of Night,
To mingle mold with mold.

But Love still journeyed on from scene to scene,
Sought, still, some land of rest;
And ever by her side a soul did lean,
Close to her faithful breast.

Long ages have rolled by. Earth's children find
Life false and fickle, still;
Her promises are fair, but she, unkind,
Forsakes them all at will.

The path is sweet and blooming, still the same
As in that ancient day;
And sable Death still follows hard, to claim
The soul-forsaken clay.

And still she lives, whose dear, divine control
Nor Life, nor Death, can sever;
And, journeying still, the unimprisoned soul
Goeth on with Love forever.