 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
140
LOVE'S PRE-VISION.
No thought of me, I deemed, was in her soul
When those sweet eyes, that did all eyes transcend
In glory, saw Death waiting as a friend.
She heard no sound of Earth; no distant roll
Of bitter waters o'er a sunken shoal;
No raving of mad winds that break and bend,
And hurry to its black and brackish end,
The ship whose course no pilot may control.
When those sweet eyes, that did all eyes transcend
In glory, saw Death waiting as a friend.
She heard no sound of Earth; no distant roll
Of bitter waters o'er a sunken shoal;
No raving of mad winds that break and bend,
And hurry to its black and brackish end,
The ship whose course no pilot may control.
'T was well: one thought of me had marred her rest,
And made her soul, through pity, loth to go.
She took my love, and wore it as a flower;
And, lest some thorn should wound her in that hour,
Love took it gently, when she did not know,
And laid it after on the cold, sweet breast.
And made her soul, through pity, loth to go.
She took my love, and wore it as a flower;
And, lest some thorn should wound her in that hour,
Love took it gently, when she did not know,
And laid it after on the cold, sweet breast.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |