Capitolo 57
For you the dear felt of hast of clasp of those hands,
Where he/she anchors the fingernail-presses they are exposed;
And you in front of that hasts of the face it knelt,
What hands the scars that the thorns have done.
ONE YEAR WITHOUT THEE; I had thought
My orphan heart would break and would die,
Before time made to bring mild quiescence,
Or it calmed the torn wounds that you/he/she could not dry;
And I still live, to faint and quail
In front of the human pain I am born;
Thee to fail so, then you drown the moan
That trembles on my lips in prayer.
You praising, while I vainly thrill;
You boasting himself/herself/itself of, while I weakly languish;
And so among heart of thy and mine
The distance that anchors ever widens.
ONE YEAR OF WOUNDS TORN Á. ME; to thee
The end of the beta conflict of thy,
The passage at times to the eternity,
The portal of the immortal life;
To me the pallium, the bier the covers with grassy sod;
To thee the palm of the victory given.
Enough, my heart; Thank goodness! Thank goodness!
What you hast one year in sky.
IV.
THE SILENCE OF THE CORPSE.
Dear, beautiful Death, the jewel of the solo.
Polishing in any place but in the dark,
What mysteries lie over dust of thy,
Was able perspective of men that the mark!
Him that haths found the nest of some bird of fledged, you/he/she can know,
For first perceives, if the bird flies;
But what equitable field or grove, he now sings in,
That is to him unknown.
HENRY VAUGHAN.
The silence of the corpse is one of the most impressive and touching
things connected with the state separate of the soul. We hear the voice
of a dying friend, in some hard wish or debits or prayer or goodbye,
or in of the exclamation of the joy or the hope; and although years are multiplied
on the corpse, that voice returns anybody more in some moment in the daytime or night,
of the joy or it is distressed, of job or he/she remains, in the life or in death.