Stephen Phillips Poems

MY dead love came to me, and said:
'God gives me one hour's rest,
To spend with thee on earth again:
How shall we spend it best?'
...

No Muse will I invoke; for she is fled!
Lo! where she sits, breathing, yet all but dead.
She loved the heavens of old, she thought them fair;
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There is a hush before the thunder-jar,
When white the steeples against purple stand:
There is a hush when night with star on star
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He said: 'Thou petty people, let me pass.
What canst thou do but bow to me and kneel?'
But sudden a dry land caught fire like grass,
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He moors the skiff within the cooler gloom
Of river-branches, unaware of doom;
Cushioned he lolls, and looks in faces fair,
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I cannot look upon thy grave,
Though there the rose is sweet:
Better to hear the long wave wash
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BEAUTIFUL lie the dead;
Clear comes each feature;
Satisfied not to be,
Strangely contented.
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Me in far lands did Justice call, cold queen
Among the dead, who after heat and haste
At length have leisure for her steadfast voice,
...