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

XVI. "Oh my dear child..."[1] by Frederick Philip Grove Oh my dear child, much of my life was pain, And saddened much of yours because of it. Who should have ever thought that of us twain It should be I who must thus lonely sit And spin sad dreams, uncheered by that clear light That kindles from the contact of two souls. Fearful we often hovered within sight Of yonder shore which death, our lord, controls. But never did we deem it might be you Who first would cross the darkly gurgling stream That borders life. We sighed to think how few At best the days in common! Then the gleam Of tears would I discover in your look And knew you tried to grasp what loneliness My death would mean to you; too great to brook. And I would stroke your hair, tress upon tress.[10] Still do I speak to you and dimly think That, somewhere near, you linger, just beyond; Thus, in a fog, a man might, at the brink Of some still water, speak across a pond And hear no answer. Fastened to my chair And baffled to perceive that days gone by, I hold vain converse with the empty air. Forgive me! But I wish it had been I. In Memoriam 15/16