Though he, that ever kind and true,
Kept stoutly step by step with you,
Your whole long, gusty lifetime through,
Be gone a while before,
Be now a moment gone before,
Yet, doubt not, soon the seasons shall restore
Your friend to you.
He has but turned the corner — still
He pushes on with right good will,
Through mire and marsh, by heugh and hill,
That self-same arduous way —
That self-same upland, hopeful way,
That you and he through many a doubtful day
Attempted still.
He is not dead, this friend — not dead,
But in the path we mortals tread
Got some few, trifling steps ahead
And nearer to the end;
So that you too, once past the bend,
Shall meet again, as face to face, this friend
You fancy dead.
Push gaily on, strong heart! The while
You travel forward mile by mile,
He loiters with a backward smile
Till you can overtake,
And strains his eyes to search his wake,
Or whistling, as he sees you through the brake,
Waits on a stile.
He loiters with a backward smile Till you can overtake, And strains his eyes to search his wake, Or whistling, as he sees you through the brake, Waits on a stile. very original way of presentation. tony
Step by step! ! ! ! Strong heart! Thanks for sharing this poem with us.
This poem is so touchingly delineated on Funeral by Robert Louis Stevenson. Nice work.
An outstanding classical poem with eternal values. Well deserved classic poem of the day.
Deep and thoughtful! A different perception of death. A great poem of the day!
He is not dead, this friend — not dead, But in the path we mortals tread Got some few, trifling steps ahead And nearer to the end; very nice poem. tony
He is not dead, this friend — not dead, But in the path we mortals tread Got some few, trifling steps ahead And nearer to the end; ............../// superb consolation writings on the funeral; beautiful poem shared
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
***********Deep*************