Songs of Stone

Songs of Stone

(In Memoriam, DPB)

By S. M. Hillis

I.

Ye nine that dwell upon the hill
Of Helecon, the bardic mount,
Now let me drink of your clear fount
And gain the strength to lift my quill.

For now it is my task to write
Of him who was my love, my life!--
Of him who now by death's sweet knife
Has passed beyond the day and night.

But how shall I presume to tell
Of all I think, and all I feel?
And how shall I begin to heal
When still the wound is fierce and fell?

'Tis only with your august aid,
Ye sacred sources of my song,
That I may start this journey long
From pain to peace, where sorrows fade.

Now let my grief be wrought in rhyme
As were his songs cast into stone,
And let me sing in dulcet tone
Of him I loved, though brief the time!

II.

How lives the world when he lives not?
How sings the bird upon the bough?
How runs the rill through reed and sloe
Or sighs the sea through sound and grot?

How shine the stars without his light?
How burns the sun or beams the moon,
When he for whom they glowed so soon
Has passed into the silent night?

It should have ceased, it should have mourned!
It should have rained a thousand years!
The dew drops should have been as tears
And day should have by sun been scorned!

Yet still the oak tree spreads its shade
Upon the woodland, rich and green;
And still the graceful deer is seen
To haunt the fertile summer glade.

I haunt the places of our love,
A spirit unconsoled in grief,
And drifting, like a wayworn leaf,
I through the past in thought do move.

The world moves on, and I return
Again to when he still was here.
I haunt love's glade, just like the deer
And still my heart does for him yearn!

III.

To Absence now I write these lines
In letters stained by unshed tears.
Through grinding grief and frozen fears
Its toothsome mouth so cruelly shines.

It is a thing of monstrous size
Yet small enough to slip and slink
Through unseen crack or tiny chink
Into the place where Presence lies.

For Presence is its food, its life!
It feeds and forages alone,
And when the shark-toothed frenzy's done,
It leaves behind it grief and strife.

It steals, it mames, it aims to kill!
It hungers for the very heart!
It makes new wounds that bleed and smart
As they with salty tears do fill.

And yet, as Absence further feeds,
It leaves behind a dreadful waste.
Regret and grief, a bitter taste,
Do flourish well where Absence breeds.

As Presence dies and Absence lives,
Yet joy still lies 'mid black despair,
For memory still lingers there
To which the monster no heed gives.

It leaves the past alone to live
Within its victim's grieving soul,
And there, though still there is a hole,
A flower of Presence still may thrive.

So Absence, I will make this vow
That while my memory is strong,
I will not cease to sing life's song
Though thou dost feed upon me now.

I will still live and laugh and love
Although I ache for him I've lost.
For it is worth the highest cost
To hear the cooing of a dove.

The simple joys will be with me
Despite my grief which still remains,
And though I'm bound by thy cruel chains
That too will cease, and I'll be free.

IV.

I sing of hands and hearts entwined,
Of braided bodies linked in love.
As are the sun and moon above,
So are our spirits two combined.

In life, he cast his light on me
And bathed me in his cloth of gold.
We climbed to ecstasies untold
And ever sought love's mystery.

My scratches burnished by his touch,
His spirit strengthened by my kiss,
We walked through wonder, woe and bliss
And taught each other oh so much.

I'll not forget his words to me.
I'll not forget his gentle hand
Which could the very stone command
To flow and change at his decree.

From rough, hard stone came forth his dreams,
The sublime visions of his thought.
From darkest pain fair things he wrought,
And touched all with his golden beams.

How bright he was! What hope he knew!
And now alas, it's all for naught,
Because by death he has been caught
And shines no more where mortals do.

Yet does he not shine brighter still,
Where all is bright and pain no more?
Does he not dwell on yonder shore
Where winter has no might to chill?

If so, then I shall see him there
When comes my time to board the ship
And with him I willwalk and sip
From fountains ever flowing fair.

V.

The oak tree and the willow grow
Both best when they stand not too close.
Not so the briar and the rose Which round and round each other go.