some 18th century poem

792098377Meryl Streep in Mamma Mia! Confession: I saw this on facebook. My friend Kara posted for a friend of hers who lost his partner. It’s written by some 18th century priest? Farmer? But I love it so much, I want to write a play where I can include this and say the words. I’m pretty sure that’s why acting appeals to me, for the prose out there that is so beautiful, I want to embody it. (Aside: Of course, an actor’s job is demonstrate passion for the text, even if it’s crap. But if the text is worthy? Oh boy, that is the best.)

Death Is Nothing At All
Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it ever was.
There is absolute and unbroken continuity.
What is this death but a negligible accident?

Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?
I am but waiting for you, for an interval,
somewhere very near,
just round the corner.

All is well.
Nothing is hurt; nothing is lost.
One brief moment and all will be as it was before.
How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again!

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