 | The Poems of A. C. Benson |  |
106
SECRETS
Home of my heart, when wilt thou ope
Thy silent doors to let me in?
What! not one glimpse to quicken hope
Of all that I aspire to win?
Thy silent doors to let me in?
What! not one glimpse to quicken hope
Of all that I aspire to win?
So near, and yet so oft denied!
The roses on my trellis throw
Their heedless scent from side to side,
Yet will not whisper what they know.
The roses on my trellis throw
Their heedless scent from side to side,
Yet will not whisper what they know.
The yellow moon, that hangs and peers
Amid the icy horns on high,
Leans to the listening earth, yet fears
To tell the secret of the sky.
Amid the icy horns on high,
Leans to the listening earth, yet fears
To tell the secret of the sky.
O pines, that whisper in the wind,
When lingering herds from pasture come,
Breathe somewhat of your steadfast mind:
The hour is yours: yet ye are dumb.
When lingering herds from pasture come,
Breathe somewhat of your steadfast mind:
The hour is yours: yet ye are dumb.
Sweet answering eyes, you too have learned
The secret that you will not tell—
I should have known it, but you turned
That moment, and the lashes fell!
The secret that you will not tell—
I should have known it, but you turned
That moment, and the lashes fell!
107
Home of my heart, why stand so cold
And silent? There is mirth within:
The sun sinks low: the day is old:
Oh let the baffled wanderer in!
And silent? There is mirth within:
The sun sinks low: the day is old:
Oh let the baffled wanderer in!
| The Poems of A. C. Benson | |