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The Unknown Eros
Patmore
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To comfort his sad heart.
So when that night I pray’d
To God, I wept, and said:
Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath,
Not vexing Thee in death,
And Thou rememberest of what toys
We made our joys,
How weakly understood,
Thy great commanded good,
Then, fatherly not less
Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the clay,
Thou’lt leave Thy wrath, and say,
‘I will be sorry for their childishness.’ XI. TIRED MEMORY.
The stony rock of death’s insensibility
Well’d yet awhile with honey of thy love
And then was dry;
Nor could thy picture, nor thine empty glove,
Nor all thy kind, long letters, nor the band
Which really spann’d
Thy body chaste and warm,
Thenceforward move
Upon the stony rock their wearied charm.
At last, then, thou wast dead.
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Community Reviews
Quite an unknown text today although I imagine it was popular in it's time. I came across a few lines in a magazine years ago that read as follows (accompanied by a winter scene):
I, singularly moved
To love the lovely that are not beloved,
Of all the Seasons, most
Love Winter
The lines have been in t