The Mockers and other Verses By Jane Barlow |
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AN END IN ITSELF |
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 | The Mockers and other Verses |  |
82
AN END IN ITSELF
On brink of fierce-eyed morn and shadowless way
I passed a spring brimmed pure as flower-clipt dew,
Nor then durst pause or drink, but since I knew
My steps must thitherward turn at close of day,
I bade that loveliest image with me stay,
And evermore my desert journey through
From thought thereof my heart's best solace drew,
While yet the burning hours between us lay.
I passed a spring brimmed pure as flower-clipt dew,
Nor then durst pause or drink, but since I knew
My steps must thitherward turn at close of day,
I bade that loveliest image with me stay,
And evermore my desert journey through
From thought thereof my heart's best solace drew,
While yet the burning hours between us lay.
And when I stood thereby with weary feet,
Lo, trampling herd to baulk my dear desire
Had trod the limpid crystal into mire.
Yet how from henceforth chide the hope's deceit,
That cheered my path o'er leagues of drouth and heat,
And slaked full many a shaft of noon-launched fire?
Lo, trampling herd to baulk my dear desire
Had trod the limpid crystal into mire.
Yet how from henceforth chide the hope's deceit,
That cheered my path o'er leagues of drouth and heat,
And slaked full many a shaft of noon-launched fire?
| The Mockers and other Verses | |