1 min read
Слушать(AI)To Manon On His Fortune In Loving Her
I
ID not choose thee, dearest.
It was
That made the choice, not I.
Mine eyes were
As a rude shepherd's who to some lone
His offering brings and cares not at what
He bends his knee.
The gifts alone were mine;
The rest was Love's.
He took me by the hand,
And fired the sacrifice, and poured the wine,
And spoke the words I might not understand. I was unwise in all but the dear
Which was my fortune, and the blind
Which led my foolish steps to Love's abode,
And youth's sublime unreason'd
Which raised an altar and inscribed in
Its dedication To the Unknown God.
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt (17 August 1840[1] – 10 September 1922[2]), sometimes spelled Wilfred, was an English poet and writer. He and his wife, Lad
Comments
You need to be signed in to write comments
Other author posts
Esther A Sonnet Sequence XIII
A second warning, nor unheeded Yet The thought appealed to me as no strange thing, Pure though I was, that love impure had set Its seal on that fair woman in her Spring Her broken beauty did not mar her grace In form or spirit
St Valentines Day
AY, all day, I rode upon the down, With hounds and horsemen, a brave On this side in its glory lay the sea,
Twenty Days
Twenty days are barely gone, I was merry all the day Folly was my butt of scorn Now the fool myself I play
Esther A Sonnet Sequence III
A little honey Ay, a little sweet, A little pleasure when the years were young, A joyous measure trod by dancing feet,