Lave thy limbs in the stream of my song! Why this cruel blessing, queen of my heart? The source has ceased to be, many a day now; The flow but a sand-stream, I know not how long. O traveller after my soul, why call for the ferry? ^Eons I waited to hear thy voice, to hearken to thee, Thine arm chiselled and painted by God s own hand To beckon me. Alas ! the river of expectation Is no more; the barque of joy doth not float. Wilt lave thy feet? take my tears! Come, goddess-guest, grant me this boon, Before these eyes are dry this soul a desert | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 5 by CONRAD AIKEN GREEN MOUNTAIN IDYL by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON THE INFLATION OF THE CURRENCY, 1919 by ROBERT FROST TO W.E.B. DUBOIS - SCHOLAR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A SEA-SHORE GRAVE by SIDNEY LANIER SPRING DAY: NIGHT AND SLEEP by AMY LOWELL SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: DOW BRITT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: TENNESSEE CLAFLIN SHOPE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |