What know we of the dead, who say these things,
Or of the life in death below the mould--
What of the mystic laws that rule the old
Grey realms beyond our poor imaginings
Where death is life? The bird with spray-wet wings
Knows more of what the deeps beneath him hold.
Let be! Warm hearts shall never wax a-cold,
But burn in roses through eternal springs;
For all the vanished fruit and flower of Time
Are flower and fruit in worlds we cannot see,
And all we see is as a shadow-mime
Of things unseen, and Time that comes to flee
Is but the broken echo of a rhyme
In God's great epic of Eternity.
Life
Victor James Daley
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Poem topics: epic, god, never, poor, bird, eternity, shadow, great, eternal, cold, broken, warm, hold, beneath, rhyme, death, flower, life, time, fruit, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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