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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XVII. EARTHLY HOPE.
Painter of Hope! too bright that brow, too fair;Those eyes too eager; all too deep the flush
Upon that cheek! O bid those streams that gush
So warmly, backward to her heart repair,
And warm, if warm they can, the chillness there:
Make her unconscious hands deflower and crush
Those unblown buds: command the tears to rush
Into worn eyes that, sadly constant, stare
As if they strove the narrowing light to hold
Of some far object, gliding fast away.
Let this be Hope: then make her stand forlorn
Upon the shore disconsolate and cold
Of seas fast-ebbing, over which the morn
Begins to tremble with its ashy grey.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |