Poetry Explorer


Classic and Contemporary Poetry


THE PRYING SLAVE by FRANK WILMOT

First Line: I SAW THE WOODLIGHT GLEAM
Last Line: UPON MY BURNING FACE.

I SAW the woodlight gleam
Upon her arm
As playfully toward the sluggard stream
She let a leaf fall down,
A light leaf small and brown;
Oh, then it seemed my heart rang
With alarm;
Spears leaped; I heard gyves clang
Down the dark corridors of dream.

I saw the dusk embrace
her body of light
As she stepped down the stones with timid grace
And swam beside her leaf.
O beautiful! O my grief!
Now haunted of her comeliness
Day and night
I feel her white feet press
Upon my burning face.



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