THE loves that doubted, the loves that dissembled, That still mistrusted themselves and trembled, That held back their hands and would not touch; Who strained sad eyes to look more nearly, And saw too curiously and clearly What others blindly clutch; To whom their passion seemed only seeming, Who dozed and dreamed they were only dreaming, And fell in a dusk of dreams on sleep; When dreams and darkness are rent asunder, And morn makes mock of their doubts and wonder, What should they do but weep? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MARMOZET by HILAIRE BELLOC THE BIRDS OF VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON (A NEGRO SERENADE) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO A FRIEND IN THE MAKING by MARIANNE MOORE THE TOMB AT AKR CAAR by EZRA POUND BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE BEAR by EDITH SITWELL A WINTER BLUEJAY by SARA TEASDALE TONE PICTURE (MALIPIERO: IMPRESSONI DAL VERO) by JEAN STARR UNTERMEYER |