 | Complete works (1925-27) |  |
II
[Deep passions rock my weariness asleep]
Deep passions rock my weariness asleep,Forgetting that my rest doth rest with thee:
And from the abysm of old delirious deep
The hideous face of grief glares out on me:
And I am wearier of my false rest
Than of true labour working all my life:
But wouldst thou lend the harbourage of thy breast
To my woe-wearied thought, this sleepy strife
Should have a waking and a fineless end;
For thine it is love, to dispose of me;
Show thou to me true traitor or false friend,
I can but put the show of praise on thee;
I can but swear thy seeming sanctity,
Thy feigning truth, pure love thy cruelty.
| Complete works (1925-27) | |