 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
9
SONNET VII. TOO NEAR.
So close we are, and yet so far apart,—
So close, I feel thy breath upon my cheek;
So far, that all this love of mine is weak
To touch in any way thy distant heart:
So close, that, when I hear thy voice, I start
To see my whole life standing bare and bleak;
So far, that, though for years and years I seek,
I shall not find thee other than thou art!
So close, I feel thy breath upon my cheek;
So far, that all this love of mine is weak
To touch in any way thy distant heart:
So close, that, when I hear thy voice, I start
To see my whole life standing bare and bleak;
So far, that, though for years and years I seek,
I shall not find thee other than thou art!
So, while I live, I walk upon the verge
Of an impassable and changeless sea
Which more than death divides me, love, from thee;
The mournful beating of its heavy surge
Is all the music now that I shall hear:
O love, thou art too far, and yet too near!
Of an impassable and changeless sea
Which more than death divides me, love, from thee;
The mournful beating of its heavy surge
Is all the music now that I shall hear:
O love, thou art too far, and yet too near!
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |