Grief and Consolation

Grief

Elizabeth Barrett Browning, 1806 - 1861

I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless—

That only men incredulous of despair,

Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air,

Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access

Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness

In souls, as countries, lieth silent-bare

Under the blenching, vertical eye-glare

Of the absolute Heavens. Deep-hearted man, express

Grief for thy Dead in silence like to death;

Most like a monumental statue set

In everlasting watch and moveless woe,

Till itself crumble to the dust beneath!

Touch it! the marble eyelids are not wet—

If it could weep, it could arise and go.

Consolation

Robert Louis Stevenson, 1850 - 1894

Though he, that ever kind and true,

Kept stoutly step by step with you,

Your whole long, gusty lifetime through,

      Be gone a while before,

Be now a moment gone before,

Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restore

      Your friend to you.

He has but turned the corner — still

He pushes on with right good will,

Through mire and marsh, by heugh and hill,

      That self-same arduous way —

That self-same upland, hopeful way,

That you and he through many a doubtful day

      Attempted still.

He is not dead, this friend — not dead,

But in the path we mortals tread

Got some few, trifling steps ahead

      And nearer to the end;

So that you too, once past the bend,

Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend

      You fancy dead.

Push gaily on, strong heart! The while

You travel forward mile by mile,

He loiters with a backward smile

      Till you can overtake,

And strains his eyes to search his wake,

Or whistling, as he sees you through the brake,

      Waits on a stile.