 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
121
LOVE'S JOURNEY UNENDED.
Hush'd is this place, where now to live seems best,—
Here in Love's journey came we, she and I;
Beyond me wind the dim, sweet paths, whereby
Of Love's high hill we should have gain'd the crest.
Here, something weary, did she stop to rest,
But yet more weary grew, till with one sigh,
One kiss that seem'd of a dumb grief the cry,
We parted, and deep sleep her soul possess'd.
Here in Love's journey came we, she and I;
Beyond me wind the dim, sweet paths, whereby
Of Love's high hill we should have gain'd the crest.
Here, something weary, did she stop to rest,
But yet more weary grew, till with one sigh,
One kiss that seem'd of a dumb grief the cry,
We parted, and deep sleep her soul possess'd.
The paths at end of which Love's temples shine,
Glad feet of other lovers may essay;
But, as they, singing, pass me on their way,
Who place sad songs for flowers upon a shrine,
Let them not ask how long waits he, and why,
Lest sadder they should go for the reply.
Glad feet of other lovers may essay;
But, as they, singing, pass me on their way,
Who place sad songs for flowers upon a shrine,
Let them not ask how long waits he, and why,
Lest sadder they should go for the reply.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |