 | The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter |  |
277
THE LOVER
He walks like one enchanted,
Whose soul is held in thrall,
By some sweet presence haunted
Who passed unseen by all.
Whose soul is held in thrall,
By some sweet presence haunted
Who passed unseen by all.
He speaks as half-forgetting
The hearers that are by,
He sighs as though regretting
Some dear and soft reply.
The hearers that are by,
He sighs as though regretting
Some dear and soft reply.
It is a lover's rapture,
Naught doth he see or hear,
His heart is held in capture
Unto some mistress dear.
Naught doth he see or hear,
His heart is held in capture
Unto some mistress dear.
| The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter | |