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+text By the Dead
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| author = | | author = Thaxter, Celia Laighton | ||
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.. | {{Style P-Poem|poem=O Poverty! till now I never knew | ||
: The meaning of the word! What lack is here! | |||
O pale mask of a soul great, good, and true! | |||
: O mocking semblance stretched upon a bier! | |||
Each atom of this devastated face | |||
: Was so instinct with power, with warmth and light; | |||
What desert is so desolate! No grace | |||
: Is left, no gleam, no change, no day, no night. | |||
Where is the key that locked these gates of speech, | |||
: Once beautiful, where thought stood sentinel, | |||
Where sweetness sat, where wisdom passed, to teach | |||
: Our weakness strength, our homage to compel? | |||
Despoiled at last, and waste and barren lies | |||
: This once so rich domain. Where lives and moves, | |||
In what new world, the splendor of these eyes | |||
: That dauntless lightened like imperial Jove's? | |||
Annihilated, do you answer me? | |||
: Blown out and vanished like a candle flame? | |||
Is nothing left but this pale effigy, | |||
: This silence drear, this dread without a name? | |||
Has it been all in vain, our love and pride, | |||
: This yearning love that still pursues our friend | |||
Into the awful dark, unsatisfied, | |||
: Bereft, and wrung with pain? Is this the end? | |||
Would God so mock us? To our human sense | |||
: No answer reaches through the doubtful air; | |||
Yet with a living hope, profound, intense, | |||
: Our tortured souls rebel against despair; | |||
As bowing to the bitter fate we go | |||
: Drooping and dumb as if beneath a curse; | |||
But does not pitying Heaven answer " No! " | |||
: With all the voices of the universe?}} | |||
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