Now that you too must shortly go the way
Which in these bloodshot years uncounted men
Have gone in vanishing armies day by day,
And in their numbers will not come again:
I must not strain the moments of our meeting
Striving for each look, each accent, not to miss,
Or question of our parting and our greeting,
Is this the last of all? is this—or this?
Last sight of all it may be with these eyes,
Last touch, last hearing, since eyes, hands, and ears,
Even serving love, are our mortalities,
And cling to what they own in mortal fears:—
But oh, let end what will, I hold you fast
By immortal love, which has no first or last.
Leave a guest comment (subject to review)
Comments
-
-
How many women, like Farjeon, asked themselves the same question when faced by the death of a loved one. And how many asked it again after the next war and the next . . .
-
Speaks so well.....
This piece of poetry speaks so well to something we all wonder about and face in our lives. Is this it - the last time? Trying so hard to drink it all in, absorb every nuance into the fibers that connect us all together.
*Sigh*
Beautifully composed and well displayed.
Love & Blessings,
~
~ Janet ~ ~
-
loved it
From guest Christia (contact)
loved the poem want to read now all the rest of yuor poems they are so good got to go to the libary now to check them out how about 50 of them -
-
War from the Women's perspective. Saying Goodbye to their men, never knowing if they would see each other again. Drinking in the way they look, ingesting every thing about them to file away and open each time they have dark, desolate moments. Lingering looks, holding on tightly before their man leaves. Heart-wrenching and emotional poems such as this are priceless.
Von
Adding your comment:
