“ Doth that ill dream, the sleep-world's confines breaking, Walk at our elbow all day long To leave us only at a worse awaking. [Pg 38] "What shall be done with all these tears of ours?" THE poor proud mother in the sad old tale, That wept her lovely children's loss in vain Grew one with her own tears' most bitter rain; The immortal Gods that spared not for her wail Then made from out her grief's eternal flow A never-failing fountain, at whose brink Wayfaring men oft stooped them down to drink And blessed those Gods, whose envy wrought her woe. ”
Elinor Jenkins
Summary
Quotes from Poems (Elinor Jenkins)
“ Rupert Brooke. April, 1915 YOUNG and great hearted, went he forth to dare Death on the field of honour; all he sought, Was leave to lay life down a thing of naught And spill its hopes and promise on the air. Then lest vile foes should vaunt a spoil so rare The sun that loved him gave a kiss death-fraught Quenching the heaven-enkindled fire that wrought Fair fancies, bodied forth in words more fair, And lit the dreaming beauty of his face With tender mirth and strength-begetting trust,— Impotent strength, and mirth that might not save. ”
“ And fame a gaping grave whereby we weep, Nowhere now doth remain A place of refuge for us, or release, Save in the shadowy wastes of idle sleep. Therefore, scorn not these flowers of phantasy That blow about the ivory gate of dreams, For though they have not truth or constancy Yet very fair their idle semblance seems. Though short the blest relief they bring to woe, And wakening the worm 'gins gnaw again, Yet comely truth is grown a grim death's head. Fly the unconquerable foe; Go, in an empty dream lost joys regain And down among the poppies meet your dead. ”
