Broken Dreams
There is grey in your hair.Young men no longer suddenly catch their breathWhen you are passing;But maybe some old gaffer mutters a blessingBecause it was your prayerRecovered him upon the bed of death.For your sole sake—that all heart's ache have known,And given to others all heart's ache,From meagre girlhood's putting onBurdensome beauty—for your sole sakeHeaven has put away the stroke of her doom,So great her portion in that peace you makeBy merely walking in a room.
Your beauty can but leave among usVague memories, nothing but memories.A young man when the old men are done talkingWill say to an old man, 'Tell me of that ladyThe poet stubborn with his passion sang usWhen age might well have chilled his blood.'
Vague memories, nothing but memories,But in the grave all, all, shall be renewed.The certainty that I shall see that ladyLeaning or standing or walkingIn the first loveliness of womanhood,And with the fervour of my youthful eyes,Has set me muttering like a fool.
You are more beautiful than any oneAnd yet your body had a flaw:Your small hands were not beautiful,And I am afraid that you will runAnd paddle to the wristIn that mysterious, always brimming lakeWhere those that have obeyed the holy lawPaddle and are perfect; leave unchangedThe hands that I have kissedFor old sakes' sake.
The last stroke of midnight dies.All day in the one chairFrom dream to dream and rhyme to rhyme I have rangedIn rambling talk with an image of air:Vague memories, nothing but memories.
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.