No doubt to-morrow I will hide My face from you, my King. Let me rejoice this Sunday noon, And kneel while gray priests sing. It is not wisdom to forget. But since it is my fate Fill thou my soul with hidden wine To make this white hour great. My God, my God, this marvelous hour I am your son I know. Once in a thousand days your voice Has laid temptation low. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WE CAN'T WRITE OURSELVES INTO ETERNAL LIFE by DAVID IGNATOW LITTLE BOY BLUE by EUGENE FIELD THE HAYLOFT by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON MEN OF VERDUN by LAURENCE BINYON AN EPITAPH ON MR.WM. HOPTON by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 3 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE CITY OF LAISH by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON LINES SUGGESTED BY THE FOURTEENTH OF FEBRUARY (1) by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY |