If Grief for Grief can Touch Thee

If grief for grief can touch thee,

If answering woe for woe,

If any truth can melt thee

Come to me now!

I cannot be more lonely,

More drear I cannot be!

My worn heart beats so wildly

'Twill break for thee--

And when the world despises--

When Heaven repels my prayer--

Will not mine angel comfort?

Mine idol hear?

Yes, by the tears I'm poured,

By all my hours of pain

O I shall surely win thee,

Beloved, again!

by Emily Bronte (1818 - 1848)

The Beginning

Some day I shall rise and leave my friends

And seek you again through the world's far ends,

You whom I found so fair

(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair!),

My only god in the days that were.

My eager feet shall find you again,

Though the sullen years and the mark of pain

Have changed you wholly; for I shall know

(How could I forget having loved you so?),

In the sad half-light of evening,

The face that was all my sunrising.

So then at the ends of the earth I'll stand

And hold you fiercely by either hand,

And seeing your age and ashen hair

I'll curse the thing that once you were,

Because it is changed and pale and old

(Lips that were scarlet, hair that was gold!),

And I loved you before you were old and wise,

When the flame of youth was strong in your eyes,

---And my heart is sick with memories.

by Rupert Brooke (1887-1915)