Friends

Grief shall not be my friend!   She shall not be
Companion of my table, path or bed,
She shall not share my salt nor break my bread,
Nor walk nor weep nor dream nor wake with me:
I will not trust her mournful company,
Nor listen to her whisperings of the dead,
Why should I heed her somber eyelid’s red?
Tears are but chains and I, I would be free!

For grief would make a laggard of my will,
And me, a puny thing of anguished need,
A memory!   And I would die at length,
Close to the thought of you—and loving still:
So will I choose a friend of stouter creed,
The wingless, tearless thing the heart calls strength.