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

XXXI. "I know a valley..."[23] by Frederick Philip Grove To C. G. I know a valley in these plaited hills, Untrod by man, where wanded willows bow Above the murmur of secretive rills, And where the sedge sweeps higher than your brow. There shall we go, Cathleen, and build of stone A rustic throne which solitude embays. This is the summer we must face alone-- A sunlit waste of leaf-embowered days And of such nights as set the soul astir With dark desire and death-enamoured thought Which, owl-like, circles, padded wings awhir, Till reels resolve, from firmest aims distraught. We must not yield. Look, then, into my eye To find a mood akin. Hear, then, my speech In which each word is winged with a sigh, And every cadence with a poignant reach. We must not yield. Lean, then, upon my arm To turn from this our death-engendered quest, To face a summer stripped of summer's charm Which promises submission at the best. We must not yield. Descend into this vale To see the essence of the things that are: Death comes in time; for death will no one fail; But life remains and is death's avatar. Life must be suffered. Sublimated pain Becomes at last; transcendent fortitude. Come, lean on me; down threads this winding lane. Composure must in solitude be wooed. In Memoriam 15/31