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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
SONNET XVI. A POEM.
Lo! even now, on this wild winter night,
Yielding to wishes looked far more than said,
My lady of her spirit-sweetness read,
In tones that ever soothe my soul aright,
Peaceful and full and tender as the light
Down the dim isles of old cathedrals shed,
That sweetest poem, that her voice first made
Sacred to me, in days when skies were bright.
Yielding to wishes looked far more than said,
My lady of her spirit-sweetness read,
In tones that ever soothe my soul aright,
Peaceful and full and tender as the light
Down the dim isles of old cathedrals shed,
That sweetest poem, that her voice first made
Sacred to me, in days when skies were bright.
And, as she read, the vanished June returned,
And in the tranced, gold, sultry, summer weather,
Once more in our old place we sat together.
O days of joy! before my heart had learned
The bitter, bitter truth, whereby at length
I know love's grief, the passion of its strength.
And in the tranced, gold, sultry, summer weather,
Once more in our old place we sat together.
O days of joy! before my heart had learned
The bitter, bitter truth, whereby at length
I know love's grief, the passion of its strength.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |