Love After Death
Arthur O'Shaughnessy
1844 to 1881
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There is an earthly glimmer in the Tomb:
And, in their own tears and with long sleep,
My unclose and feel no need to weep;
But, in corner of the narrow room,
Behold Love’s spirit standeth, the bloom
That things made deathless by Death’s self keep.
O what a change! for now his looks deep,
And a long patient smile he can assume:
Memory, in some soft low monotone,
Is pouring like oil into mine ear
The tale of a most and hollow bliss,
That I once throbbed indeed to my own,
Holding it hardly between joy and fear,—
And how that broke, and how it came to this.