Till the slow daylight pale, A willing slave, fast bound to one above, I wait; he seems to speed, and change, and fail; I know he will not move. I lift my golden orb To his, unsmitten when the roses die, And in my broad and burning disk absorb The splendours of his eye. His eye is like a clear Keen flame that searches through me; I must droop Upon my stalk, I cannot reach his sphere; To mine he cannot stoop. I win not my desire, And yet I fail not of my guerdon, lo! A thousand flickering darts and tongues of fire Around me spread and glow; All rayed and crowned, I miss No queenly state until the summer wane, The hours flit by; none knoweth of my bliss, And none has guessed my pain; I follow one above, I track the shadow of his steps, I grow Most like to him I love Of all that shines below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NIGHT MOTHS by EDWIN MARKHAM ULTIMA VERITAS by WASHINGTON GLADDEN A WIFE IN LONDON by THOMAS HARDY HYMN: 32. THE NATIVITY OF OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST by CHRISTOPHER SMART THE PRAIRIE-GRASS DIVIDING by WALT WHITMAN POEM FOR PICTURE: TO AN OIL PAINTING BY WINSLOW HOMER (DRIFTWOOD) by FRANK ANKENBRAND JR. |