 | The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill |  |
249
AT LAST
From all the long, bright daytime's restlessness,
Through starlight's broken promise of redress,
From eyes that care not, hands that cannot bless,
Down all the wintry, withered, endless train
Of years that flowered in hope to fruit in pain,
I claim no happiness.
Through starlight's broken promise of redress,
From eyes that care not, hands that cannot bless,
Down all the wintry, withered, endless train
Of years that flowered in hope to fruit in pain,
I claim no happiness.
Sweet soul, that art so rich in blessed store,
See all my hungry heart, my need is sore;
Oh, if thou holdest it, withhold no more!
Let not that wandering hope, that blind with tears,
Comes down to me through all the desert years,
Drop dead, even at the door.
See all my hungry heart, my need is sore;
Oh, if thou holdest it, withhold no more!
Let not that wandering hope, that blind with tears,
Comes down to me through all the desert years,
Drop dead, even at the door.
What wistful thought thou darest not confess
Shadows thy dawn-lit eyes with tenderness?
What timid stir as of a mute caress
Dares only thrill thy trembling finger-tips—
What word waits, dumb and quivering, at thy lips?
O Love, my happiness!
Shadows thy dawn-lit eyes with tenderness?
What timid stir as of a mute caress
Dares only thrill thy trembling finger-tips—
What word waits, dumb and quivering, at thy lips?
O Love, my happiness!
| The poetical works of Edward Rowland Sill | |