 | Songs of A Worker |  |
83
IN A BOWER.
A path led hither from the house
Where I have left your doubt and pain,
O fettered days of all my past;
I lingered long, but came at last;
One lifting up of fragrant boughs,
Then love was here and broke my chain
With eager hands: the die is cast,
No path leads back again.
Where I have left your doubt and pain,
O fettered days of all my past;
I lingered long, but came at last;
One lifting up of fragrant boughs,
Then love was here and broke my chain
With eager hands: the die is cast,
No path leads back again.
Henceforth, cold tyrant of my heart,
You rule no longer pulse or breath;
Love, with rich words and kisses hot,
Has told me truth in this charmed spot;
And, though your hand this hour should part
The leaves, I have no thought, but saith
My life is Love's: I fear you not,
Now you are only Death.
You rule no longer pulse or breath;
Love, with rich words and kisses hot,
Has told me truth in this charmed spot;
84
The leaves, I have no thought, but saith
My life is Love's: I fear you not,
Now you are only Death.
And Death creeps up the garden walks;
But Love hastes, winning more and more:
My hands, my mouth are his, my hair,
My breast, as all my first thoughts were;
Across the moonlit sward Death stalks;
But Love upon this flower-strewn floor
Hath made me wholly his: ah, there!
Death stands outside the door.
But Love hastes, winning more and more:
My hands, my mouth are his, my hair,
My breast, as all my first thoughts were;
Across the moonlit sward Death stalks;
But Love upon this flower-strewn floor
Hath made me wholly his: ah, there!
Death stands outside the door.
| Songs of A Worker | |