English poem
To The Reader
by Edward Carpenter (1844–1929)
O child of light and shadow: though I pass, The mountains and the plains where we two played Our part of earthly pleasance still are laid Out in the open world of sun and grass,-- For thy fruition. Not in stone or brass Seek any sign of me. Let no tear braid Thy light-fringed lids because my path is made Beyond the bounds thy sight cannot surpass. Turn thee again unto the sunlit plain, Let all pure influences of the air And sweet sad fellowship of mortal pain Wreathe round thy head immortal fancies fair. Where’er suns rise on men or late moons wane, I leave thee at this stone to meet thee there.
ROME, 1873.