The Rest Is Silence (3) - Druckversion +- Sonett-Forum (https://sonett-archiv.com/forum) +-- Forum: Sonett-Archiv (https://sonett-archiv.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=126) +--- Forum: Sonette aus germanischen Sprachen (https://sonett-archiv.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=394) +---- Forum: Englische Sonette (https://sonett-archiv.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=818) +----- Forum: Autoren B (https://sonett-archiv.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=830) +------ Forum: Bates, Katharine Lee (https://sonett-archiv.com/forum/forumdisplay.php?fid=1040) +------ Thema: The Rest Is Silence (3) (/showthread.php?tid=16244) |
The Rest Is Silence (3) - ZaunköniG - 04.07.2007 "The Rest Is Silence" I The shadow of Death's wing had fallen grey Upon her face, the mother-face, our star Of home since life first read its calendar Within our smiles; we felt her slip away, Our vain hold clinging to an empty clay, Down that hushed valley where the white mists are, On to its utmost verge, so far, so far That her return was but as spirits may Briefly revisit earth. For oh, she shone Transfigured, yet so winsome, that our awe Was blended with her own beatitude. The burden of her fourscore years was gone; Escaped from Time, she mocked his mighty law; Her children looked upon her maidenhood. II Eager and shy, as when among her peers A girl will pour her confidence, she told In voice where laughter ran a thread of gold A history all novel to our ears. Her blissful eyes oblivious of tears, With lingering touch she one by one unrolled Her bridal memories from fold on fold Of fragrant silence. Dead thse fifty years Was he with whom, young hand in hand, she went To their first home, which simple neighbor-folk Had filled with garden-bloom and forest scent; Yet still of him, and that June path they fared, Those welcoming flowers, her failing accents spoke; --Of how Love led her to a place prepared. III When the bruised heart, bewildered first and numb, Quickened to pain, how passing strange it seemed To miss her comfort! She, who still esteemed Old lore above the schools, would she not come With potency of hoarded balsamum, To heal the hurt? Thus craving her, I dreamed. Before me, sundering east from west, there gleamed A marble wall, illimitable, dumb, A blank of white! when lo, her own sweet face, With no more halo than the crispy lace I knew so well, from sudden casement smiled, --Her blithe, audacious self, infringing so With stolen peep Death's new punctiliom, Breaking his code to reassure her child. |