 | The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland |  |
41
The Promise
You know my pains, you see me in the hell
Through which I toil, hurt and uncomforted,
You see on what base errands I am sped,
And what I reap where we sowed asphodel;
And my songs are of sorrow, and I tell,
Knowing no other, tales of grief and dread:
Though I be warm I am as good as dead,
And always we can hear my passing bell.
Through which I toil, hurt and uncomforted,
You see on what base errands I am sped,
And what I reap where we sowed asphodel;
And my songs are of sorrow, and I tell,
Knowing no other, tales of grief and dread:
Though I be warm I am as good as dead,
And always we can hear my passing bell.
And yet, dear Spirit, you who have kind eyes
That meet disaster with a child's amaze,
You who have got a wild rose for your lips
And are all fashioned out of Paradise;
You shall stand safe beside the sapphire bays,
And I will show you all our golden ships.
That meet disaster with a child's amaze,
You who have got a wild rose for your lips
And are all fashioned out of Paradise;
You shall stand safe beside the sapphire bays,
And I will show you all our golden ships.
| The Collected Poems of T. W. H. Crosland | |