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 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
II.
I have no heart in me for Love's delight:
How sweet the Summer was! How strong its spell!
I care not, now, what stars may have to tell;
To me the day is void, and void the night.
Upon her dim and inaccessible height
Fame stands above me, robed and crowned. Ah, well!
Let those who love her find her pleasurable;
She hath no grace or merit in my sight.
How sweet the Summer was! How strong its spell!
I care not, now, what stars may have to tell;
To me the day is void, and void the night.
Upon her dim and inaccessible height
Fame stands above me, robed and crowned. Ah, well!
Let those who love her find her pleasurable;
She hath no grace or merit in my sight.
I am in love alone with tender Sleep, —
Dew on my sad, unfruitful flower of life
Of which no man the memory may keep.
O most divine forgetfulness of strife,
My sky is not too dark, my path too steep,
While Thou art mine, for Friend, for Love, for Wife!
Dew on my sad, unfruitful flower of life
Of which no man the memory may keep.
O most divine forgetfulness of strife,
My sky is not too dark, my path too steep,
While Thou art mine, for Friend, for Love, for Wife!
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |