Only a Curl
I.
FRIENDS
of
faces
unknown
and
a
land
Unvisited
over
the
sea,
Who
tell
me
how
lonely
you
stand
With
a
single
gold
curl
in
the
hand
Held
up
to
be
looked
at
by
me,
—
II.
While
you
ask
me
to
ponder
and
say
What
a
father
and
mother
can
do,
With
the
bright
fellow-locks
put
away
Out
of
reach,
beyond
kiss,
in
the
clay
Where
the
violets
press
nearer
than
you.
III.
Shall
I
speak
like
a
poet,
or
run
Into
weak
woman's
tears
for
relief
?
Oh,
children
!
—
I
never
lost
one,
—
Yet
my
arm
's
round
my
own
little
son,
And
Love
knows
the
secret
of
Grief.
IV.
And
I
feel
what
it
must
be
and
is,
When
God
draws
a
new
angel
so
Through
the
house
of
a
man
up
to
His,
With
a
murmur
of
music,
you
miss,
And
a
rapture
of
light,
you
forgo.
V.
How
you
think,
staring
on
at
the
door,
Where
the
face
of
your
angel
flashed
in,
That
its
brightness,
familiar
before,
Burns
off
from
you
ever
the
more
For
the
dark
of
your
sorrow
and
sin.
VI.
`God
lent
him
and
takes
him,'
you
sigh
;
—
Nay,
there
let
me
break
with
your
pain
:
God
's
generous
in
giving,
say
I,
—
And
the
thing
which
He
gives,
I
deny
That
He
ever
can
take
back
again.
VII.
He
gives
what
He
gives.
I
appeal
To
all
who
bear
babes
—
in
the
hour
When
the
veil
of
the
body
we
feel
Rent
round
us,
—
while
torments
reveal
The
motherhood's
advent
in
power,
VIII.
And
the
babe
cries
!
—
has
each
of
us
known
By
apocalypse
(God
being
there
Full
in
nature)
the
child
is
our
own,
Life
of
life,
love
of
love,
moan
of
moan,
Through
all
changes,
all
times,
everywhere.
IX.
He
's
ours
and
for
ever.
Believe,
O
father
!
—
O
mother,
look
back
To
the
first
love's
assurance.
To
give
Means
with
God
not
to
tempt
or
deceive
With
a
cup
thrust
in
Benjamin's
sack.
X.
He
gives
what
He
gives.
Be
content
!
He
resumes
nothing
given,
—
be
sure
!
God
lend
?
Where
the
usurers
lent
In
His
temple,
indignant
He
went
And
scourged
away
all
those
impure.
XI.
He
lends
not
;
but
gives
to
the
end,
As
He
loves
to
the
end.
If
it
seem
That
He
draws
back
a
gift,
comprehend
'Tis
to
add
to
it
rather,
—
amend,
And
finish
it
up
to
your
dream,
—
XII.
Or
keep,
—
as
a
mother
will
toys
Too
costly,
though
given
by
herself,
Till
the
room
shall
be
stiller
from
noise,
And
the
children
more
fit
for
such
joys,
Kept
over
their
heads
on
the
shelf.
XIII.
So
look
up,
friends
!
you,
who
indeed
Have
possessed
in
your
house
a
sweet
piece
Of
the
Heaven
which
men
strive
for,
must
need
Be
more
earnest
than
others
are,—speed
Where
they
loiter,
persist
where
they
cease.
XIV.
You
know
how
one
angel
smiles
there.
Then
weep
not.
'Tis
easy
for
you
To
be
drawn
by
a
single
gold
hair
Of
that
curl,
from
earth's
storm
and
despair,
To
the
safe
place
above
us.
Adieu.
