WHERE she her sacred bower adorns, The rivers clearly flow; The groves and meadows swell with flowers, The winds all gently blow. Her sun-like beauty shines so fair, Her spring can never fade: Who then can blame the life that strives To harbour in her shade? Her grace I sought, her love I wooed, Her love thought to obtain; No time, no toil, no vow, no faith, Her wished grace can gain. Yet truth can tell my heart is hers, And her will I adore; And from that love when I depart, Let heaven view me no more! Her roses with my prayers shall spring. And when her trees I praise, Their boughs shall blossom, mellow fruit Shall straw her pleasant ways. The words of hearty zeal have power High wonders to effect; O why should then her princely ear My words of zeal neglect? If she my faith misdeems, or worth, Woe worth my hapless fate! For though time can my truth reveal, That time will come too late. And who can glory in the worth, That cannot yield him grace? Content in everything is not, Nor joy in every place. But from her bower of joy since I Must now excluded be, And she will not relieve my cares, Which none can help but she; My comfort in her love shall dwell, Her love lodge in my breast, And though not in her bower, yet I Shall in her temple rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN THE TWILIGHT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL A WORKING PARTY by SIEGFRIED SASSOON THE DARK FOREST by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS THE TRANSLATED WAY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE RUNNER WITH THE LOTS by LEONIE ADAMS THE STUDENT'S SERENADE by ANNE BRONTE |