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MARBLE OR DUST?
. . . "I would be marble? Wherefore? Just to miss
The tremors of glad pain that dust must know?—
The grief that settles after some dead kiss?—
The frown that was a smile not long ago?
The tremors of glad pain that dust must know?—
The grief that settles after some dead kiss?—
The frown that was a smile not long ago?
"Do I forget the stone's long loneliness—
The dumb impatience all wan watching brings?—
The looking with blind eyes, in vague distress,
For Christ's slow Coming and the End of Things?
The dumb impatience all wan watching brings?—
The looking with blind eyes, in vague distress,
For Christ's slow Coming and the End of Things?
"No, boy of mine, with your young yellow hair,
Better the dust you scatter with your feet
Than marble, which can see not you are fair—
Than marble, which can feel not you are sweet.
Better the dust you scatter with your feet
Than marble, which can see not you are fair—
Than marble, which can feel not you are sweet.
"Ay, or than marble which must meet the years
Without my light relief of murmurous breath;
Without the bitter sweetness of my tears—
Without the love which dust must have for Death."
Without my light relief of murmurous breath;
Without the bitter sweetness of my tears—
Without the love which dust must have for Death."
