 | Poems by James Rhoades |  |
122
VIII.
[Sorrow, I have one word to sing to thee]
Sorrow, I have one word to sing to thee,So beautiful thou seemest: I would say
That, ev'n as the dim twilight passeth day,
So art thou fairer than all joys that be.
A long time hast thou sojourn'd here with me,
Dwelling in this deep soul, when no man thought;
And it is twilight there, and I can see
The pure stars and the splendour noon hath not.
Men do not love thee nor thy tearful face,
Perceiving not the grace
That from those downcast eyes doth meekly shine:
They love their foolish pleasures—mirth and noise—
But I love thee, and would no more rejoice,
For thou art of the Silence—Be thou mine!
| Poems by James Rhoades | |