 | The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston |  |
HER IN ALL THINGS.
Unto mine ear I set a faithful shell,
That as of old it might rehearse to me
The very music of the far-off sea,
And thrill my spirit with its fluctuant spell:
But not the sea's tones there grew audible,
But Love's voice, whispering low and tenderly,
Of things so dear that they must ever be
Unspoken, save what heart to heart may tell:
That as of old it might rehearse to me
The very music of the far-off sea,
And thrill my spirit with its fluctuant spell:
But not the sea's tones there grew audible,
But Love's voice, whispering low and tenderly,
Of things so dear that they must ever be
Unspoken, save what heart to heart may tell:
And hearing in the shell those tones divine,—
Where once I heard the sea's low sounds confer,—
I said unto myself, “This life of thine
Holds nothing then which is not part of Her;
And all sweet things that to men minister
Come but from Love, who makes Her heart his shrine.”
Where once I heard the sea's low sounds confer,—
I said unto myself, “This life of thine
Holds nothing then which is not part of Her;
And all sweet things that to men minister
Come but from Love, who makes Her heart his shrine.”
| The Collected Poems of Philip Bourke Marston | |