Mad are we all, maids, men, young fools alike and old, <br />All we that wander blind and want the with to dare. <br />Dark through the world we go, dazed sheep, across life's wold, <br />Edged from the flowers we loved by our herd's crook of care. <br />Life? Have we lived it? No. We were not as these were, <br />Intent, untiring souls who proved time till their death. <br />Nay we were sluggards, all, how crazed in our despair <br />Each day of their fame won here nobly witnesseth. <br />--What is life's wealth? To do. Its loss? To dream and wait. <br />Years vanish unfulfilled; but work achieved lives on. <br />Not all Time's beauty died when these two fell asleep. <br />Dear Madeline, if we grieve our own less strenuous fate, <br />Heaven send us still this strength, this joy, now they are gone <br />At least like these to love, even though mad fools we weep.<br /><br />Wilfrid Scawen Blunt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-memoriam-w-m-e-b-j/
