The Prisoner of Love By F. W. Orde Ward (F. Harald Wiliams) |
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August 24
MY DEAREST |
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 | The Prisoner of Love |  |
276
August 24 MY DEAREST
“His mouth is most sweet; yea, he is altogether lovely.”—Sol.
Song v. 16.
Long I could not find my Dearest,
Though in service every day
I felt sure He was the nearest,
And the Light upon my way;
With me walking, with me talking
In my toiling, at my play.
For I somehow could not grasp Him
Close and to my bosom clasp Him,
Nor behold the Blessèd Face;
Nor, howe'er for Him I sought
In the palaces of thought,
Catch Him in some secret place.
Though in service every day
I felt sure He was the nearest,
And the Light upon my way;
With me walking, with me talking
In my toiling, at my play.
For I somehow could not grasp Him
Close and to my bosom clasp Him,
Nor behold the Blessèd Face;
Nor, howe'er for Him I sought
In the palaces of thought,
Catch Him in some secret place.
But, at last, when earth seemed Christless
Full of empty sounds and glares,
And my fond appointments trystless—
If enriched with golden cares;
In the starkness of sheer darkness,
Lo, I met Him unawares.
And the night with its black portal
Opened to me the Immortal,
And I saw Him in undress;
Naked did He come and sweet,
Naked breasts and naked feet,
In His awful Loveliness.
Full of empty sounds and glares,
And my fond appointments trystless—
If enriched with golden cares;
In the starkness of sheer darkness,
Lo, I met Him unawares.
And the night with its black portal
Opened to me the Immortal,
And I saw Him in undress;
Naked did He come and sweet,
Naked breasts and naked feet,
In His awful Loveliness.
| The Prisoner of Love | |