Alfred H. Miles, ed. Women Poets of the Nineteenth Century. 1907.
By Songs, Ballads, and a Play (1888). I. Etruscan TombsA. Mary F. Robinson-Darmesteter (18571944)
And be the indifferent earth, and know us not!
To think that one of us shall live to cry
On one long buried in a distant spot!
Yourselves, with scarce a rose-leaf on your trace,
You kept the ashes of the dead in sight,
And shaped the vase to seem the vanished face.
That tender memories mould with constant touch,
Until the dust and earth of it they turn
To your dear image that I love so much:
That shall recall you while the clay shall last.
And human arms that dangle at their sides,
The earliest potters made them for their dead,
To keep the mother’s ashes or the bride’s.
With symbol and with emblem discontent—
To keep the dead alive and as they were,
The actual features and the glance that went!
For lo, upon these alien shelves removed
The sad immortal images remain,
And show that once they lived and once you loved.
Invoke so drear an immortality!
Are roots where cyclamen and violet grow;
Beneath the roots the earth is deep and hard,
And there a king was buried long ago.
Cast up the autumn soil about the place,
And saw a gleam of unexpected gold,
And underneath the earth a living face.
Among the wreaths and gems that mark the king
One moment; then a little dust and clay
Fell shrivelled over wreath and urn and ring.
Writ in a language no man living reads.
Clear-charactered and firm and fresh of line.
See, not a word is gone; and yet how fast
The secret no man living may divine!
A record of his glory on the earth?
The wail of friends? The Pæans of the brave?
The sacred promise of the second birth?
Are sown with slender discs of graven gold
Filled with the praise of Death: “Thrice happy he
Wrapt in the milk-soft sleep of dreams untold!”
The golden promise in their fleshless hands.