Love, where the summer night is ripe and odorous, Flushed with the spilt wine of the golden-hearted stars, Out of the garden's dusk and those funereal bars I hear the voice of Romeo, Juliet calling us Unto the marriage-grave of love's too keen delight; And in the voice of Juliet I have heard the cry (O heart, to put on passion's immortality!) Of your wild heart to mine, under a winter night. Out of the winter night a little light is born, Yet still in shadowy ways our love goes wandering, Our heavy-hearted pilgrim love, a way-worn thing, Faint, though the sky is brightening to the breaking morn | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PLEASURES OF IMAGINATION; A POEM. ENLARGED VERSION: BOOK 1 by MARK AKENSIDE THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 72, 73, 74, 75. AWWAL, AKHIR, THAHIR, BATIN by EDWIN ARNOLD BIRTHDAY LINES TO AGNES BAILLIE by JOANNA BAILLIE NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 15 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 89. THE LIMIT OF HUMAN KNOWLEDGE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT A CANTO OF KHANS by BERTON BRALEY |