| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XXXIII. Resignation
From ‘Marpessa’ | | By Stephen Phillips (1868–1915) |
| | | WHEN I remember this, how shall I know | |
| That I myself may not, by sorrow taught, | |
| Accept the perfect stillness of the ground? | |
| Where, though I lie still, and stir not at all, | |
| Yet shall I irresistibly be kind, | 5 |
| Helplessly sweet, a wandering garden bliss. | |
| My ashes shall console and make for peace; | |
| This mind that injured, be an aimless balm. | |
| Or if there be some other world, with no | |
| Bloom, neither rippling sound, nor early smell, | 10 |
| Nor leaves, nor pleasant exchange of human speech; | |
| Only a dreadful pacing to and fro | |
| Of spirits meditating on the sun; | |
| A land of barèd boughs and grieving wind; | |
| Yet would I not forgo the doom, the place, | 15 |
| Whither my poets and my heroes went | |
| Before me; warriors that with deeds forlorn | |
| Saddened my youth, yet made it great to live; | |
| Lonely antagonists of Destiny, | |
| That went down scornful before many spears, | 20 |
| Who, soon as we are born, are straight our friends; | |
| And live in simple music, country songs, | |
| And mournful ballads by the winter fire, | |
| Since they have died; their death is ever mine. | | | | |
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