IN THE ROOM OF THE FUNERAL STELÆ

O’er all the world I wandered with my grief, My human grief, that would not be forgot, Finding no face, no word, nor any spot Where haunted heart and brain could find relief. Until the morning I unwitting stept Into the stelæ-halls and the great peace Of the Greek sorrow over Life’s surcease Enveloped me, even in woe inept. Here, marble love in simple human sense To nearest friend gives earthly treasure up, A matron handing maid a box or cup; A man from dog and slave turning him hence; A soldier springing out into the dark; A wife slow fading in her husband’s arms; The inexorable Fact, its vague alarms And Love grown suddenly aloof and stark! Yet no breast-beating here, nor frantic woe, Nor bitter tears, nor loud outcry of pain. Only the question: “Will they live again? Go they forever from us, when they go?” Majestic sorrowers the figures stand, Absorbed in contemplation of One Thing ... No promises, nor priestly counselling, Only the longing eyes and clasping hand! Down the long halls I wandered; Athens’ Spring Radiant without, with almonds’ rosy spray, And violets crowding on the hills. That day My dead heart stirred to marble comforting! For the Greeks knew! Death is the only thing That keeps its dignity. So Death they met Ready to pay to him a subject’s debt; Going out awe-struck as to meet a King. The Greeks knew! nothing any more can heal The heart Death once despoils of sorrowing. With proud simplicity they felt the sting, Then wore the mystery like sacred seal! Calm-eyed, controlled, those marble figures gaze Into the depths no mortal eyes have known, Then, Grecian head thrown back, the world is shown Sorrow’s transfigured face, immortal ways!