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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
PAST AND PRESENT.
When I conceive of things that might have been,—
Of joys that now no God can reinspire,
And all the melancholy years require,—
I turn my face and front my life unseen.
Stately she was, and like an Eastern queen,
Only her soul was as a kindling fire.
She comprehended every heart's desire
And was desire's bound. O matchless mien,
Of joys that now no God can reinspire,
And all the melancholy years require,—
I turn my face and front my life unseen.
Stately she was, and like an Eastern queen,
Only her soul was as a kindling fire.
She comprehended every heart's desire
And was desire's bound. O matchless mien,
O face of sleeping passion and grave eyes
That grew Love's own when his soul kindled them;
O wide white brows that bore his diadem;
O voice which now no more to mine replies;
O sweet, my love, my own in spite of fate,—
Is the lamp quenched, my bride, and am I late?
That grew Love's own when his soul kindled them;
O wide white brows that bore his diadem;
O voice which now no more to mine replies;
O sweet, my love, my own in spite of fate,—
Is the lamp quenched, my bride, and am I late?
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |