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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
130
SAD DREAMS.
For all my dreams of thee are sad, not sweet.
I see thy face; but on thy face I see,
The shadow of the end. I call to thee,
Come close to thee, yet never may I greet
Thy form with an embrace. My pulses beat
With old remembered hopes; then suddenly,
Hope stops, and thou, I know, art gone from me.
I strive to follow, but with failing feet;
I see thy face; but on thy face I see,
The shadow of the end. I call to thee,
Come close to thee, yet never may I greet
Thy form with an embrace. My pulses beat
With old remembered hopes; then suddenly,
Hope stops, and thou, I know, art gone from me.
I strive to follow, but with failing feet;
Or else I dream that I, with heart on fire,
Wait in some darkened ante-chamber's gloom,
Till one shall lead me forth, to hear once more
Thy words of love: the visionary door
Begins to move; I see the dim-lit room,
And wake through over-stress of great desire.
Wait in some darkened ante-chamber's gloom,
Till one shall lead me forth, to hear once more
Thy words of love: the visionary door
Begins to move; I see the dim-lit room,
And wake through over-stress of great desire.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |