The Way Of A Maid
The lover whose soul shaken
In some decuman billow of bliss,
Who feels his gradual-wading
Sink in some sudden hollow of sweet,
And 'mid love's us-ed converse
Sharp on a mood which all joy sums--An instant's fine compendium
The liberal-leav-ed writ of love;
His abashed pulses beating
At the exigent joy and quick,
Is dumbed, by aiming utterance
Up to the miracle of his fate.
The wise girl, such Icarian
Saved by her confidence that she's small,--As what no kindred word will
Is uttered best by opposite,
Love in the tongue of hate exprest,
And deepest anguish in a jest,--Feeling the infinite must
Best said by triviality,
Speaks, where expression bates its wings,
Just happy, alien, little things;
What of all words is in
Implies in a sweet nothingness,
With dailiest babble shows her
That full speech were full impotence;
And while she feels the heavens lie bare,
She only talks about her hair.
Francis Thompson
Other author posts
Daisy
Where the thistle lifts a purple crown Six foot out of the turf, And the harebell shakes on the windy hill— O breath of the distant surf — The hills look over on the South, And southward dreams the sea; And with the sea-breeze hand ...
To A Snowflake
What heart could have thought you — Past our devisal (O filigree petal ) Fashioned so purely, Fragilely, surely,
Beneath A Photoraph
Phoebus, who taught me art divine, Here tried his hand where I did mine; And his white fingers in this Set my Fair's sigh-suggesting grace
To Daisies
Ah, drops of gold in whitening Burning, we know your lovely name -Daisies, that little children pull Like all weak things, over the Ye do not know your power for wrong,
