 | Brackenham Church |  |
36
MY GRATITUDE
Sweet-William, harvest is not come,
Nor can be, till along my lawn
You make of time no time but dawn.
Nor can be, till along my lawn
You make of time no time but dawn.
A friend—so Musing loves to think—
Fonder than poppies fallen away
As though disliking holiday,
Fonder than poppies fallen away
As though disliking holiday,
You call me from a studious count
Of nebulas, from foreign words,
No less commandingly than birds;
Of nebulas, from foreign words,
No less commandingly than birds;
And even when that milky band
Of stars related to your bloom
Is glitter, glitter, in my room
Of stars related to your bloom
Is glitter, glitter, in my room
You tell my heart to go to bed
Assured of loveliness when sight
Comes home to live again with light.
Assured of loveliness when sight
Comes home to live again with light.
37
Not yours to wake the look I give
When oriental poppies start
With seeming coldness to depart,
When oriental poppies start
With seeming coldness to depart,
As though my presence were a blight
To shrivel colour. You disdain
The visit shortened to a pain.
To shrivel colour. You disdain
The visit shortened to a pain.
Sweet-William, harvest is not here,
Nor can be, till you come and spend
Your savings to enrich a friend.
Nor can be, till you come and spend
Your savings to enrich a friend.
| Brackenham Church | |