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The Undying

 She was so wonderful I wondered
If wedding me she had not blundered;
She was so pure, so high above me,
I marvelled how she came to love me:
Or did she? Well, in her own fashion -
Affection, pity, never passion.
I knew I was not worth her love; Yet oh, how wistfully I strove To be her equal in some way; She knew I tried, and I would pray Some day she'd hold her head in pride, And stand with praising by my side.
A Weakling, I - she made me strong; My finest thoughts to her belong; Through twenty years she mothered me, And then one day she smothered me With kisses, saying wild with joy: "Soon we'll be three - let's hope, a boy.
" "Too old to bear a child," they said; Well, they were right, for both are dead.
.
.
.
Ah no, not dead - she is with me, And by my side she'll ever be; Her spirit lingers, half divine: All good I do is hers, not mine.
God, by my works O let me strive To keep her gentleness alive! Let in my heart her spirit glow, And by my thoughts for others show She is not dead: she'll never die While love for humankind have I.

by Robert William Service
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