 | The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley |  |
THE POWER OF INTERVAL
A fair girl tripping out to meet her love,Trimmed in her best, fresh as a clover bud.
An old crone leaning at an ember'd fire,
Short-breath'd in sighs and moaning to herself—
And all the interval of stealing years
To make that this, and one by one detach
Some excellent condition; till Despair
Faint at the vision, sadly, fiercely blinds
Her burning eyes on her forgetful hands.
| The Collected Poems of Lord De Tabley | |