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Poem by Mathilde Blind
Would we but love what will not pass away! The sun that on each morning shines as clear As when it rose first on the world's first year; The fresh green leaves that rustle on the spray. The sun will shine, the leaves will be as gay When graves are full of all our hearts held dear, When not a soul of those who loved us here, Not one, is left us—creatures of decay. Yea, love the Abiding in the Universe Which was before, and will be after us. Nor yet for ever hanker and vainly cry For human love—the beings that change or die; Die—change—forget: to care so is a curse, Yet cursed we'll be rather than not care thus.
Mathilde Blind's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org