The Triumph of Love By Edmond Holmes |
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 | The Triumph of Love |  |
LXII
The poet in the grave of poesyBuries his heart's dead passion:”—so men prate
Who never loved nor sang; but not for me
Hath love prepared so dark and dire a fate.
Love taught my silent heart to sing again:
Love hushed its doubts: love charmed its fears away:
And ever, as it echoed love's refrain,
The passion deepened that inspired its lay.
And if at last my heart shall cease to sing,
Will love have sung himself to sleep? Ah no!
But up and ever up with tireless wing,
Lost in the splendour of the noontide glow,
My soaring love will flood with melodies,
Too pure for mortal ear, God's golden skies.
| The Triumph of Love | |