O son of mine, when dusk shall find thee bending Between a gravestone and a cradle's head-- Between the love whose name is loss unending And the young love whose thoughts are liker dread,-- Thou too shalt groan at heart that all thy spending Cannot repay the dead, the hungry dead. {123} _When I Remember_ When I remember that the day will come For this our love to quit his land of birth, And bid farewell to all the ways of earth With lips that must for evermore be dumb, Then creep I silent from the stirring hum, And shut away the music and the mirth, And reckon up what may be left of worth When hearts are cold and love's own body numb. Something there must be that I know not here, Or know too dimly through the symbol dear; Some touch, some beauty, only guessed by this-- If He that made us loves, it shall replace, Beloved, even the vision of thy face And deep communion of thine inmost kiss. {124} _Mors Janua_ Pilgrim, no shrine is here, no prison, no inn: Thy fear and thy belief alike are fond: Death is a gate, and holds no room within: Pass--to the road beyond. {125} _Rondel_* Though I wander far-off ways, Dearest, never doubt thou me: Mine is not the love that strays, Though I wander far-off ways: Faithfully for all my days I have vowed myself to thee: Though I wander far-off ways, Dearest, never doubt thou me. * This and the two following pieces are from the French of Wenceslas, Duke of Brabant and Luxembourg, who died in 1384. {126} _Rondel_ Long ago to thee I gave Body, soul, and all I have-- Nothing in the world I keep: All that in return I crave Is that thou accept the slave Long ago to thee I gave-- Body, soul, and all I have. Had I more to share or save, I would give as give the brave, Stooping not to part the heap; Long ago to thee I gave Body, soul, and all I have-- Nothing in the world I keep. {127} _Balade_ I cannot tell, of twain beneath this bond, Which one in grief the other goes beyond,-- Narcissus, who to end the pain he bore Died of the love that could not help him more; Or I, that pine because I cannot see The lady who is queen and love to me. Nay--for Narcissus, in the forest pond Seeing his image, made entreaty fond, "Beloved, comfort on my longing pour": So for a while he soothed his passion sore; So cannot I, for all too far is she-- The lady who is queen and love to me. But since that I have Love's true colours donned, I in his service will not now despond, For in extremes Love yet can all restore: So till her beauty walks the world no more All day remembered in my hope shall be The lady who is queen and love to me. {128} _The Last Word_ Before the April night was late A rider came to the castle gate; A rider breathing human breath, But the words he spoke were the words of Death.