| Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916. | | | XXXI. Tender Memory
‘O thou art put to many uses, sweet!’ | | By Stephen Phillips (1868–1915) |
| | | O THOU art put to many uses, sweet! | |
| Thy blood will urge the rose, and surge in spring; | |
| But yet!— | |
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| And all the blue of thee will go to the sky, | |
| And all thy laughter to the rivers run; | 5 |
| But yet!— | |
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| Thy tumbling hair will in the West be seen, | |
| And all thy trembling bosom in the dawn; | |
| But yet!— | |
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| Thy briefness in the dewdrop shall be hung, | 10 |
| And all the frailness of thee on the foam; | |
| But yet!— | |
| |
| Thy soul shall be upon the moonlight spent, | |
| Thy mystery spread upon the evening mere. | |
| And yet!— | 15 | | | |
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