Poems By the author of "The Patience of Hope" [i.e. Dora Greenwell] |
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And oft upon me is the fancy borne |
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97
IV. And oft upon me is the fancy borne
And oft upon me is the fancy borne—(Wild wish whose wayward longing doth but prove
How this poor heart with anxious throbbings worn
Hath need of rest from all things, e'en from love!)
To cross those icy barriers that wreathe
Betwixt these sisters' souls and mine; to see
How it fares with them on the heights, and breathe
The cold, clear air of their serenity;
For thought o'er-peoples all this life of mine,
So would I leave it for one moment, free
From hope, fear, rapture—yea, Beloved, from thee.
One moment! could I thus indeed resign
A fraction of my troubled wealth, my bliss
So dearly won? I trow not! and in this
I seem like some proud courtier bowed and bent
With weight of honours, that beside his road
Sees nested 'mid thick leaves some low abode;
“There,” sighs he, “there is peace and calm content,”
Yet would he deem its quiet—banishment!
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