Faithless — Summary

The words you said grow faint; The lamp you lit burns dim; Yet, still be near your faithless friend To urge and counsel him.

Still with returning feet To where life's shadows brood, With steadfast eyes made clear in death Haunt his vague solitude.

So he, beguiled with earth, Yet with its vain things vexed, Keep even to his own heart unknown Your memory unperplexed.

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Walter de la Mare’s speaker addresses someone who has died, half confessing, half praying. The words this person once said have grown faint, and the lamp they lit has dimmed; the speaker fears he is being unfaithful simply by forgetting. Yet he asks the dead friend to stay near—to urge, counsel, and even haunt his solitude. The poem’s mood is quiet and melancholy, full of shadows but also tenderness. There is guilt in the speaker’s self-accusation: he is drawn to the world, even though its “vain things” irritate him. He wants the dead companion’s memory to remain clear and uncomplicated, not tangled by his own weakness. The strange, gentle invocation of “steadfast eyes made clear in death” makes the haunting feel less frightening than consoling. It is a poem about loyalty after loss, and the slow dread of forgetting someone who still feels present.

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