 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
39
Lovers
He goeth and he returns not. He is dead;
Their house of joy no further brightness shows,
Their loveliness is come unto its close,
Their last touch given, and their last kindness said;
For him no more the vision of her bent head,
For her no more the lily or the rose,
Nor any gladness in this place of woes;
The book is shut, the bitter lesson read.
Their house of joy no further brightness shows,
Their loveliness is come unto its close,
Their last touch given, and their last kindness said;
For him no more the vision of her bent head,
For her no more the lily or the rose,
Nor any gladness in this place of woes;
The book is shut, the bitter lesson read.
Yet who shall beat them down? Though the Abhorr'd
Taketh the groom, and to the bride hath sent
The dagger of anguish with the ice-cold hilt,
Both of them triumph in a strange content—
And out of souls like these will heavens be built
And holy cities peopled for the Lord.
Taketh the groom, and to the bride hath sent
The dagger of anguish with the ice-cold hilt,
Both of them triumph in a strange content—
And out of souls like these will heavens be built
And holy cities peopled for the Lord.
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |