Page:The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884).djvu/308

 It seemed the light was never loved before,

Now each man said, "'T will go and come no more.'

No budding branch, no pebble from the brook,

No form, no shadow, but new dearness took

From the one thought that life must have an end;

And the last parting now began to send

Diffusive dread through love and wedded bliss,

Thrilling them into finer tenderness.

Then Memory disclosed her face divine,

That like the calm nocturnal lights doth shine

Within the soul, and shows the sacred graves,

And shows the presence that no sunlight craves,

No space, no warmth, but moves among them all;

Gone and yet here, and coming at each call,

With ready voice and eyes that understand,

And lips that ask a kiss, and dear responsive hand.

Thus to Cain's race death was tear-watered seed

Of various life and action-shaping need.

But chief the sons of Lamech felt the stings

Of new ambition, and the force that springs

In passion beating on the shores of fate.

They said, "There comes a night when all too late

The mind shall long to prompt the achieving hand,

The eager thought behind closed portals stand,

And the last wishes to the mute lips press

Buried ere death in silent helplessness.

Then while the soul its way with sound can cleave,

And while the arm is strong to strike and heave,

Let soul and arm give shape that will abide

And rule above our graves, and power divide

With that great god of day, whose rays must bend

As we shall make the moving shadows tend.

Come, let us fashion acts that are to be,

When we shall lie in darkness silently,