Classic and Contemporary Poetry
SONG: FOR THEE, by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT Poet Analysis Poet's Biography First Line: What woes are there Last Line: For thee. Subject(s): Hearts; Love; Man-woman Relationships; Passion; Singing & Singers; Male-female Relations; Songs | ||||||||
WHAT woes are there I would not choose to bear For thy dear sake? Curses were blest, the ache Of sorrow's scourging and grief's crown of care. All pain were dear to me, But it must be For thee. A sun grown cold, Earth wrapped in vaporous fold, The corn-flowers' head Robbed of their blue and red, The buttercups and daisies of their gold. This could I choose to see, But it must be For thee. The notes unheard Of lark and piping bird, Or else their songs Replaced by harsher tongues, No voice to sing to me or speak a word. This too were joy to me, But it must be For thee. A life alone, One left with others gone, A mourning house, Where none moves but the mouse Or. knows the secret of its pale guests flown. Grief's tears were sweet to me, But it must be For thee. Night without sleep, Slow hours that halt and creep, A cheerless bed Where Love nor lays his head Nor looks with pity on blind eyes that weep. Watching were rest to me, But it must be For thee. Passion, once sure, With vain expense grown poor, Cheeks ruddy white Now crocussed with affright, And Love the guest all coldly shown the door. Love's loss were gain to me, But it must be For thee. Glory forsworn, The World's praise changed to scorn, Silence of friends, Foes gaining all their ends Through fault of fortune and my sword undrawn. Hatred were love to me, But it must be For thee. Life's purpose vast Turned to base ends and cast On lines of ill Which faltering downward still Shall topple headlong to the gulf at last. Life's shame were pride to me, But it must be For thee. A guarded cell, Where crime and madness dwell, Where murder creeps And maniac laughter weeps, With the undying worm for last farewell. There let me die, sad me, But it must be For thee. O Soul of mine! Thou wert a thing divine, But made in vain. Then be thou broke in twain And spilled upon time's empty sands like wine. My soul no Heaven would see, But it must be For thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE APOLLO TRIO by CONRAD AIKEN BAD GIRL SINGING by MARK JARMAN CHAMBER MUSIC: 4 by JAMES JOYCE CHAMBER MUSIC: 5 by JAMES JOYCE CHAMBER MUSIC: 28 by JAMES JOYCE THE SONG OF THE NIGHTINGALE IS LIKE THE SCENT OF SYRINGA by MINA LOY ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 50 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT ESTHER; A YOUNG MAN'S TRAGEDY: 51 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 110. THE OASIS OF SIDI KHALED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |
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