Side by side, their faces blurred,
The earl and countess lie in stone,
Their proper habits vaguely shown
As jointed armour, stiffened pleat,
And that faint hint of the absurd -
The little dogs under their feet.
Such plainness of the pre-baroque
Hardly involves the eye, until
It meets his left-hand gauntlet, still
Clasped empty in the other; and
One sees, with a sharp tender shock,
His hand withdrawn, holding her hand.
They would not think to lie so long.
Such faithfulness in effigy
Was just a detail friends would see:
A sculptor’s sweet commissioned grace
Thrown off in helping to prolong
The Latin names around the base.
They would not guess how early in
Their supine stationary voyage
The air would change to soundless damage,
Turn the old tenantry away;
How soon succeeding eyes begin
To look, not read. Rigidly they
Persisted, linked, through lengths and breadths
Of time. Snow fell, undated. Light
Each summer thronged the glass. A bright
Litter of birdcalls strewed the same
Bone-riddled ground. And up the paths
The endless altered people came,
Washing at their identity.
Now, helpless in the hollow of
An unarmorial age, a trough
Of smoke in slow suspended skeins
Above their scrap of history,
Only an attitude remains:
Time has transfigured them into
Untruth. The stone fidelity
They hardly meant has come to be
Their final blazon, and to prove
Our almost-instinct almost true:
What will survive of us is love.
It's like those old statues of the earl and countess—they're frozen in time, but you can still feel their connection. No matter what life throws at them, they're holding hands, showing that their love is rock-solid. It's a bit like how parents stick by their kids through thick and thin, making sure that love and support never waver, no matter what changes around them. This poem reminds us that the love parents have for their children can outlast anything else—it's the real deal that lasts a lifetime.
That’s beautiful Stella, thank you. Unfortunately the Larkin poem I find myself most often thinking of is the deeply cynical This be the the Verse. I prefer to think of the enduring and unbreakable connection of love. Two years since my daughter declared her trans identity, our connection has at times been very strained. It is fragile, but, because of love, it holds.
This makes me cry every single time.