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Note:
This beautiful poem by Mrs. Browning begged for a response.
I
certainly wouldn't presume to even come close to the talent of this
wonderful
poetess, but the need to answer her was overwhelming.
~
Vincent Mason |
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Irrepairableness
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING
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I have been in the meadows all the day,
And gathered there the nosegay that you see,
Singing within myself as bird or bee
When such do field-work on a morn of May.
But now I look upon my flowers, decay
Has met them in my hands, more fatally
Because more warmly clasped,-and sobs are free
To come instead of songs. What you say,
Sweet counsellors, dear friends? that I should go
Back straightway to the fields and gather more?
Another, sooth, may do it, but not I.
My heart is very tired, my strength is low,
My hands are full of blossoms plucked before,
Held dead within
them till myself shall die |
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Repairableness
A REPLY TO E.B. BROWNING
BY VINCENT MASON
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I have been to the glen to gather flowers,
Basking in the sunshine of your love, enjoying those many hours,
Having come to know only what was the best of you;
Now the morning has passed as the scorching sun rules the sky,
The neat rows of buttercups have begun to whither and die.
For what we could not know, nor begin to understand,
Was that the bright light of midday can dry up a once green land,
Revealing the weeds that went unseen in the heat of the day;
So, let us hope for gray clouds and rain, for when they come
The showers revive those flowers thought dying under the sun,
Then evening comes and again I bring you my bouquet.
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Copyright, all rights reserved,
9/99
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