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

XXXII. "She who has given life..."[24] by Frederick Philip Grove She who has given life and seen it die Wears a madonna's more than regal crown; She is enthroned among the clouds on high And looks at birth and death; and she looks down. Then let us speak of her who lies at rest And yet is with us: in the hour of dusk When shadows rise and bow like spectres blest, And nightshade scents the air with sweet of musk. For what she was she is; she cannot fade. See, in our sleep she glides into our dream And fans our temples with her breath! That glade Shall be her sacred haunt when glow-worms gleam. And we must learn to think, not that she died, But that she lived was our allotted gift-- Must stem the overfoaming, rushing tide Of under-thoughts with their down-sucking drift. For we are human. Wreckage whirls in spate About our feet and knees, resistance spent; And overhead a cloud, the hue of slate, Bears menace unexplored and imminent. Such is the mortal lot. He is a child Who knows it not. At best we can accept And bear what is imposed, unreconciled, And proudly point and say, We have not wept! See, yonder, where the brook its river joins: That is the place, embedded in the sedge: The fall will come; then shall we gird our loins To wander once again along life's edge. In Memoriam 15/32