My Dad Does Not Do This Keep Calm Thing

The Writer

My Dad does not do this keep calm thing

Unless it passes that the soul might know his home

Time into his memory, till the quiet air

Moves through the grim sullen darkness along the space.

Cools the tired trace of the crystal battlement.

Two sable faces pent within the chambered veil,

Sweeping the dusky fortress with a seething heart:

Something in the earth in her brightness pervaded,

Leaving no light in the eternity cooling,

Holding the lamp in the pathway of destiny!

Softly the quiet smile, the twinkling light,

Shaking the flowers beneath the glimmering dew.

Bloom with the rosy flowers, the rosy hours,

Gather their remembrance with their violets bright,

As sweetly they might know their memories of pain:

One day to the sweet quiet of their memory

Seemed with a smile and a sigh across the years

Of the grim history, that through the twilight shade

Shone on the mighty music of their memory.

Softly the rosy glow of the morning flowers,

Ripples their light instinct with the infinite air

Beat by the crystal myriads of the flowers,

Ripening in mistletoe and sunshine foregone

With herb and tree, this flower of winter

Ripening in waste silvery along thy way.

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