 | Brackenham Church |  |
21
SOLILOQUY
‘When it was proved my Dear had turned to thief,
As proved it was, or Pain had not gone fuming—
His unbelief the victim of belief—
Adown love's path become a path of glooming,
The common seemed as shabby as a cloud
Bereft of vivid friendliness with thunder,
And wearisome the little finch that vowed
His broody girl the moorland's only wonder.
By what keen faulting had my sweetheart slipped
Thus soon from perfectness to imperfection,
Denying heavenly fare so often lipped
And stored in honey combs of recollection?
As proved it was, or Pain had not gone fuming—
His unbelief the victim of belief—
Adown love's path become a path of glooming,
The common seemed as shabby as a cloud
Bereft of vivid friendliness with thunder,
And wearisome the little finch that vowed
His broody girl the moorland's only wonder.
By what keen faulting had my sweetheart slipped
Thus soon from perfectness to imperfection,
Denying heavenly fare so often lipped
And stored in honey combs of recollection?
Who yesterday clung close as ivy born
For holding fast is now a tearing thorn.’
For holding fast is now a tearing thorn.’
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