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

XXII. "We cannot... by Frederick Philip Grove We cannot grasp it yet; the memories Of all her tender ways are still too fresh; Too often still we think these agonies To brush aside--a loathsome spider's mesh In which the head is caught. Thus do we start Out of some torturing dream, aghast that things Unreal should have power to wring the heart And fold the mind in dread that chokes and clings. But no! A wave of sudden consciousness That it did happen sends us to our feet Questioning all; and life seems less and less Designed our human patterings to meet. Then speak in whispers we, revive the past, And smile at visions of things that have been; Till we remember that they did not last. A silence falls; and shadows close us in. And we lie down anew-- to sleep and spin More dreams; to wake and listen for the sounds That haunt a house at night, sounds weird and thin, As tapping winds tiptoe their stealthy rounds. And once again, as we sink deep away, The very air is breathing with her breath. She is with us! Could we but with her stay! Resolved were then the mystery of death In Memoriam 15/22