 | Later Poems |  |
II. Mildred
Because he loveth her she goeth blithe;
The veriest bliss of blisses doth she taste;
And I, too, love him! Shall I bid him haste,
That fell Anatomy who bears the scythe,
To spoil her grand white bosom, leave her lithe
White limbs with all their grace for aye disgraced,
And lay her perfect body's beauty waste,
Who holds my lover bound with cord and withe?
The veriest bliss of blisses doth she taste;
And I, too, love him! Shall I bid him haste,
That fell Anatomy who bears the scythe,
20
White limbs with all their grace for aye disgraced,
And lay her perfect body's beauty waste,
Who holds my lover bound with cord and withe?
Leave her the beauty, O God, for Time to set
His ill slow fingers on with touches dim!
Leave her the radiancy of face and limb!
Let her be deadly fair a season yet!
But, if thou be just God, make her forget
That once she loved and was beloved by him.
His ill slow fingers on with touches dim!
Leave her the radiancy of face and limb!
Let her be deadly fair a season yet!
But, if thou be just God, make her forget
That once she loved and was beloved by him.
| Later Poems | |