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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>In Memory Of Douglas Vernon Cow</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">THIS POEM, DEDICATED TO HIS MOTHER.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">To twilight heads comes Death as comes a friend.<br>As with the gentle fading of the year<br>Fades rose, folds leaf, falls fruit, and to their end<br>Unquestioning draw near,<br>Their flowering over, and their fruiting done,<br>Fulfilled and finished and going down with the sun.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">But for June's heart there is no comforting<br>When her full-throated rose<br>Still quick with buds, still thrilling to the air,<br>By some stray wind is tossed,<br>her swelling grain that goes<br>Heavy to harvesting<br>In a black gale is lost,<br>And her round grape that purpled to the wine<br>Is pinched by some chance frost.<br>Ah, then cry out for that last, lovely rose,<br>For the stricken wheat, and for the finished vine!<br>Such were you who sleep now, who have foregone<br>So many of Life's rich secrets almost learned;</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Winning so much, so much yet unwon,<br>Yet to be dared, to discover, to reveal.<br>Quick still with ardour, hand still at the wheel<br>On wide and unsailed seas, eyes turning still<br>Towards the morning, while the keen brain burned<br>To the imperative will.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Upon your summer Death seems to set his heel,<br>Writes on the page 'No more.'<br>And brings the sign of sunset, shuts the door<br>And the house is dark and the tired mourners sleep.<br>Yet says he too, 'Though quiet at last you lie,<br>'And have done with laughter and strife and joy and care,<br>'You have honour with your peace; and still you keep<br>'Fullness of life and of felicity.<br>'You have seen the grail. What need you of grey hair?<br>'There are those who daily die,<br>'Who have long out lived their welcome in the world,<br>'Who are old and sad and tired and fain to cease<br>'From the crowded earth, and the hours in tumult whirled,<br>'Urgent and vain. You are not such as these<br>'Who have striven for laurels, and never knew the shade<br>'Upon their brows, who would persuade the rose,<br>'And never have come near it; till the head<br>'Bows and the heart breaks, and the spirit knows<br>'Only its failure, dim and featureless,--<br>'Its weariness of all things dreamed and done,<br>'When love and grief alike seem emptiness<br>'And fame and unrecognition one.'</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The full tide took you, you went out with the sun,<br>Not in the cringing ebb, not in the grey<br>And tremulous twilight, when each lonely one<br>To its last loneliness must creep away.<br>Your genius has won its rich repose,<br>Full laurelled, wearing still the unfaded rose.<br>And as those who bid goodbye at snowdrop time<br>Bear with them broken promises of Spring,<br>So you in triumph,--in the glory men had in you,<br>In Love's full worshipping,--<br>High summer thoughts, untouched of Winter's rime,<br>Went forth with honour, having fulfilled your Spring.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">The hands that built you felt you flower from her prayer,<br>True to her vision true;<br>Fearless and fine, shaped from her fashioning;<br>Hands empty now, and yet not all unfilled,<br>Having built and fired the generous heart and brain,<br>Of the man you were; whose fervent spirit willed<br>You to the service and healing and help of men.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=464718" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">These things are hers, not to be lost nor changed<br>With changes of death; for though the body die<br>The golden deed is stamped eternally<br>With the head of God. The new and alien years<br>Leave it still bright, unaltered, unestranged.<br>Almost too proud, and too profound for tears<br>Is the high memory that the desolate heart<br>Shrines and is dumb, yet may for ever keep<br>Unforbidden, the imperishable part,<br>And what Love held, awake, he holds asleep.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Muriel+Stuart">Muriel Stuart</a></strong></div>