Memory

I I nursed it in my bosom while it lived, I hid it in my heart when it was dead; In joy I sat alone, even so I grieved Alone and nothing said. I shut the door to face the naked truth, I stood alone—I faced the truth alone, Stripped bare of self-regard or forms or ruth Till first and last were shown. I took the perfect balances and weighed; No shaking of my hand disturbed the poise; Weighed, found it wanting: not a word I said, But silent made my choice. None know the choice I made; I make it still. None know the choice I made and broke my heart, Breaking mine idol: I have braced my will Once, chosen for once my part. I broke it at a blow, I laid it cold, Crushed in my deep heart where it used to live. My heart dies inch by inch; the time grows old, Grows old in which I grieve. II I have a room whereinto no one enters Save I myself alone: There sits a blessed memory on a throne, There my life centres. While winter comes and goes—oh tedious comer!— And while its nip-wind blows; While bloom the bloodless lily and warm rose Of lavish summer. If any should force entrance he might see there One buried yet not dead, Before whose face I no more bow my head Or bend my knee there; But often in my worn life's autumn weather I watch there with clear eyes, And think how it will be in Paradise When we're together.