Andrew Macphail, comp. The Book of Sorrow. 1916.
XXXIV. Compensation. I held it truth, with him who singsAlfred, Lord Tennyson (18091892)
From ‘In Memoriam’
I
To one clear harp in divers tones,
That men may rise on stepping-stones
Of their dead selves to higher things.
And find in loss a gain to match?
Or reach a hand thro’ time to catch
The far-off interest of tears?
Let darkness keep her raven gloss:
Ah, sweeter to be drunk with loss,
To dance with death, to beat the ground,
The long result of love, and boast,
‘Behold the man that loved and lost,
But all he was is overworn.’…
I felt it, when I sorrow’d most,
’Tis better to have loved and lost,
Than never to have loved at all.