I cannot bear the thought that I will cease to love you when I die. But think, my dear, we both were dead, As long before those words were said. As we'll be after; Death extends both ways towards its endless ends; As well the infinite past demand As grasp the future in your hand. You grieve, 'How in sap we were before our loves began to stir'; Forgetting that an absolute dearth lay on the barren side of birth. No unknown sea, no alien shore, Awaits: we've travelled there before. So when, this dear day being done, we (resolute, self sustained, alone, our passion packed, a sheet drawn over all the used hopes of love and lover). To the known ends of nothing start, heeding no charm, needing no chart - Quickly, hold your hand against my heart.
This is my absolute favourite poem ever. It means a lot to me and the story behind how i came across it is very special. My partner, Mitchell Drake took me to a second hand book store and we found, a dust covered, torn copy of Francis Meynell's, 17 poems, of which there were only 450 copies ever printed. This is a very fond memory of mine.
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