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 | The works of Francis Thompson |  |
228
THE SINGER SAITH OF HIS SONG
The touches of man's modern speech
Perplex her unacquainted tongue;
There seems through all her songs a sound
Of falling tears. She is not young.
Perplex her unacquainted tongue;
There seems through all her songs a sound
Of falling tears. She is not young.
Within her eyes' profound arcane
Resides the glory of her dreams;
Behind her secret cloud of hair.
She sees the Is beyond the Seems.
Resides the glory of her dreams;
Behind her secret cloud of hair.
She sees the Is beyond the Seems.
Her heart sole-towered in her steep spirit,
Somewhat sweet is she, somewhat wan;
And she sings the songs of Sion
By the streams of Babylon.
Somewhat sweet is she, somewhat wan;
And she sings the songs of Sion
By the streams of Babylon.
| The works of Francis Thompson | |