Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 9/"My soul and I"


Long time ago, my Soul and I
Had many curious disquisitions,
Upon the present and the past,
And on our relative positions.
And yet we failed, my Soul and I,
In proving our identity;
For said I, to my Soul, it seems
I should not be myself without you:
Yet what you are, or whence you came,
Who can tell anything about you?
Hadst waited long for me, my Soul,
Floating about in space infinite?
Or did we two, created one,
Spring into life the self-same minute?
How comes it that we suit so well—
Each so dissimilar in essence;
One deathless, immaterial,
The other of corporeal presence;
One born to die, one born to live,
The two yet needful for perfection;
And birth the link, and death the sword,
That bind and loose the strange connection,
Through which it haps my Soul and I,
Are fashioned to Humanity?
Dost thou not cling to me, my Soul,
With somewhat of a home-like feeling,
Whilst still I listen unto thee
For ever unknown worlds revealing?
Tis death to part from thee, my Soul,—
Tis life to thee from me to sever;
Must I decay—must thou live on,
And shall we parted be for ever?
We’ve hoped and loved, and smiled and wept,
And tossed about the world together;
May we not rest in Paradise,
After our spell of rough earth weather?
I cannot let thee go, my Soul,
We both must linger at the portal;
The gates will not be opened wide,
Until my dust be made immortal.
Then shall we be, my Soul and I,
Still one throughout eternity.

Julia Goddard.