Memoranda
THERE was a man lived long ago Say twenty, thirty, forty years—
And his heart was so full of hopes and fears, No peace or rest did they let him know The hopes and the fears, as to and fro He swung between joy and tears.
And here as I turn these pages again In the dim old books, on the shelves set high, Journals and notes, that useless lie, • Poetries, histories, lives of men, Margins scribbled with pencil and pen— Who was this man ? I cry.
The fears are dulled, and the hopes are fled, Darkened the page that gave delight, Stillborn the books that himself would write ; Semblance of life, but (truth be said) Heart of him, mind of him, is he not dead ?
Why not bury him out of sight ?
Yes, it was all long, long ago, Far too long for regrets or tears !
How strange to look back across the years To see him again alive, and know I was the man that travailed so, Long dead to the hopes and fears. T. R. GLOVER.
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