Edmund Clarence Stedman, ed. (1833–1908). An American Anthology, 1787–1900. 1900.

By James JeffreyRoche

972 My Comrade

THE LOVE of man and woman is as fire,

To warm, to light, but surely to consume

And self-consuming die. There is no room

For constancy and passionate desire.

We stand at last beside a wasted pyre,

Touch its dead embers, groping in the gloom;

And where an altar stood, erect a tomb,

And sing a requiem to a broken lyre.

But comrade-love is as a welding blast

Of candid flame and ardent temperature:

Glowing most fervent, it doth bind more fast;

And melting both, but makes the union sure.

The dross alone is burnt—till at the last

The steel, if cold, is one, and strong and pure.