Love-Sonnets by Evelyn Douglas [i.e. J. E. Barlas] |
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| XXXVIII. | XXXVIII.
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 | Love-Sonnets |  |
46
XXXVIII.
[Loosed from strange hands into the wet wild night]
Loosed from strange hands into the wet wild nightStraight to his home the carrier-dove returns:
The faithful love that in his bosom burns
Is as a lamp to guide his lonely flight:
He lingers not where sheltering boughs invite,
Nor backward from the gathering tempest turns,
Till far off in the distance he discerns
At the known casement the familiar light.
How many miles hath my poor spirit flown
This night to thee through wind and storm and rain,
Bearing thee words of many mystic things,
Till thou on thy soft pillow making moan
Didst hear it pecking at thy lattice pane,
And took it in, a dove with draggled wings.
| Love-Sonnets | |