Poem By Charles Stuart Calverley
"Forever": 'tis a single word!
Our rude forefathers deemed it two:
Can you imagine so absurd
"Forever"! What abysms of woe
The word reveals, what frenzy, what
Despair! "For ever" (printed so)
It looks, ah me! how trite and tame!
It fails to sadden or appal
Or solace--it is not the same
O thou to whom it first occurred
To solder the disjoined, and dower
The native language with a word
We bless thee! Whether far or near
Thy dwelling, whether dark or fair
Thy kingly brow, is neither here
But in men's hearts shall be thy throne,
While the great pulse of England beats.
Thou coiner of a word unknown
And nevermore must printer do
As men did long ago; but run
"For" into "ever," bidding two
"Forever"! passion-fraught, it throws
O'er the dim page a gloom, a glamour:
It's sweet, it's strange; and I suppose
"Forever"! 'Tis a single word!
And yet our fathers deemed it two:
Nor am I confident they erred;