for H.
I know not why, why lovers, lovers die:
The priests and gods, with downcast eyes
Fail simpler men, who, shattered, lie
While heretics, they curse, we curse the skies.
And since she truly meant so much to me--
Truly light, sky, earth and sea--
From whose end to mine I'd flee,
Then what and who and Why must I now be?
Jesse, you might say:
ReplyDeleteThe pillar perished is wherto I lent,
The strongest stay of mine unquiet mind:
The like of it no man again can finde:
From east to west still seeking though he went.
To mine unhappe for happe away hath rent,
Of all my joy the very bark and rind:
And I (alas) by chance am thus assigned
Daily to mourn till death do it relent.
But since that thus it is my destiny,
What can I more but have a woeful heart,
My pen, in plaint, my voice in carefull cry:
My mind in woe, my body full of smart.
And I my self, my self always to hate,
Till dreadful death do ease my doleful state.
(Thomas Wyatt, 1503-1542: "The Lover
Laments the Death of His Love")
And H. would say to you, if she could:
I would give you happiness
Take you
To the bourne of all your longing.
Living, I shall never leave you
And dead
My soul will carry still
Remembrance of this.
(Clement Marot, 1496-1544)