 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
APRÈS LA SOMMEIL.
Ah, the anguish and the shame,And the bitter throbs of blame,
And the grief that could but weep,
All are lulled by loving sleep.
Like a summer storm it passed,
Dew and starlight followed fast—
And she lifts her lids at last,
With a tender growing gaze,
Half of softness, half amaze—
With a rapture, low and faint,
Like some long-tormented saint
Opening recovered eyes
On a Morn of Paradise.
| War-lyrics and other poems | |