WHAT shall I tell you, dear, who have told all, What do, whose wish, whose will is manacled, What dare, whose duty at your festival Is but to light the candles round Love's bed? How can I sing to you uncomforted By any crumb of kindness Joy lets fall? Unsexed am I by service, heart and head. Nay, let me sleep and turn me to the wall. —Alas there is a day when all joy dies, Through stress of time and tears' thin nourishment And that dumb peace of Age which veils the end. Here am I come, and here I close my eyes, With what I may of dreams (they naught portend), Framing your face, the last before Love went. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LAST BUCCANEER by CHARLES KINGSLEY HE FELL AMONG THIEVES by HENRY JOHN NEWBOLT IAMBICUM TRIMETRUM, FR. LETTER TO HARVEY by EDMUND SPENSER IN A SPRING GROVE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM IN MEMORY: MISS JEWETT by GRACE ALLERTON ANDREWS THE BOY AND THE FLUTE by BJORNSTJERNE MARTINIUS BJORNSON A NEW PILGRIMAGE: 11 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 26. ASKING FOR HER HEART. CHRISTMAS by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |