Poems (Blake)/To R. F.
TO R. F.
MAY, 1880.
There be all kinds of parting,—some which rend The very soul with bitter sense of pain,And, tearing from us the beloved friend, Leave wounds which gape while life and thought remain.
And some, which lightly met and lightly passed, Like cloudwreaths tossed beneath a summer sky,A moment's shadow on the spirit cast, But leave the clear sun shining as they fly.
Yet some there are, more blessed than the rest, Which know of parting but the name alone,So deeply in each tried and faithful breast The spreading roots of mutual trust have grown;
So fairly, through the swiftly passing years Has friendship bloomed, with changing time and breath,With holy thought that strengthens and endears, With love that mocks at chance and laughs at death.
If in our hearts to-night,—O friend revered Above the common lot of common men,—By each best hope of love and life endeared, The sense of loss falls blindly now and then;
Yet do we feel with every throb of grief The straining of some bond, so strong and pureThat the sore spirit works its own relief And firmly rises, braver to endure.
There is no parting that can take thee hence; There are no ties that thus so lightly tall;Through every pulse of upward life and sense, Holding thy heart, we hold thee once for all.
And howsoever chance or fate divide, Or lands or sea between our paths be thrown,Still will we share thy hope, thy joy, thy pride, Still will we claim and call thee all our own.