Frederick Philip Grove
THE DIRGE
(IM 15, 1-33)

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e-Edition by Gaby Divay
© August 2007

University of Manitoba Libraries	FPG & FrL Collections	University of Manitoba Archives

XII. "They come... by Frederick Philip Grove They come and speak to us, a long, long line. "Ah," says one, "she is happy! She is saved "From this world's misery; she will never pine "In disappointments such as we have braved;. "For what is life? Does not this very thing "Unveil its essence? Does not this thing teach "That but to live is sorrow--is to fling "A hand into a void beyond its reach?" They come to comfort, many, many a one. "Yes," says another, "happy to be spared "All evil  suffered and all evil done, "Temptations to be shunned or to be dared. "For she was pure; such was she taken hence, "Not knowing sin; who stands immaculate "Before your memory in her innocence: "That memory nought can touch! Blessed her fate!" And others come reproving, many they. "Why do you stand and stare, despairing so? "Come and look up!" Thus does a third one say. "The stuff that life is made of we all know. "A short term yet to live remains your lot. "And life's commandments must you still obey. "To stand and linger idly profits not. "Come, find new courage, hard and grim and grey!" O yes, we know. Yet she who lived is dead. And shall we measure grief not to exceed, In desolation for so dear a head, A mood permitted by some stoic creed? O yes, we know. Life is all way beset By evil running in with force and stress; And guilt and sin, our common lot, beget Repentance and remorse as the years press. O yes, we know. Dire suffering comes to all, The deeper it, the greater our worth. That laughter turns to tears, and joy to gall. We know; for we, too, live upon this earth. Yet she who lived is dead! We stand and stare, For we lived in her. With her in her grave Lies that of us which made us true and rare: With her lies all that she unwitting gave. These hills are green; the meadows slope away; The sky is blue; softly the tree-tops stir; We look and see it all; yet not a ray Of this sun gladdens since it warms not her. What can we say, what do but with bent brow That which is left to bear sternly abide? We had a child; and we have no child now; And silence has engulfed us like a tide. In Memoriam 15/12