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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
18
SONNET XXV. BRIEF REST.
O Love! O lord of all delight and woe!
For all who hear, thy voice is still the same;
Thy hands cast down the body of wretched shame;
Still to thy chosen children thou dost show
The marvellous, sacred images that glow
Within thine inmost shrine where one deep flame,
Intense and clear, of color without name,
Lights still the carven altars where they bow.
For all who hear, thy voice is still the same;
Thy hands cast down the body of wretched shame;
Still to thy chosen children thou dost show
The marvellous, sacred images that glow
Within thine inmost shrine where one deep flame,
Intense and clear, of color without name,
Lights still the carven altars where they bow.
Brief rest is all I ask, O Love, of thee;
A space wherein to look contentedly
Upon the beauty of my lady's face,
And mouth whereof the voice is its best praise;
To feel the joy, and not the bitterness,
Of all her deep and silent loveliness.
A space wherein to look contentedly
Upon the beauty of my lady's face,
And mouth whereof the voice is its best praise;
To feel the joy, and not the bitterness,
Of all her deep and silent loveliness.
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |