Beginning Of End
She was aweary of the
Of Love's incessant tumultuous wing;
Her lover's tokens she would answer not--'Twere well she should be strange with him somewhat:
A pretty babe, this Love,--but fie on it,
That would not suffer her lay it down a whit!
Appointed tryst defiantly she balked,
And with her lightest comrade lightly walked,
Who scared the chidden Love to hide apart,
And peep from some unnoticed corner of her heart.
She thought not of her lover, deem it not(There yonder, in the hollow, that's
IS cot),
But she forgot not that he was forgot.
She saw him at his gate, yet stilled her tongue--So weak she felt her, that she would feel strong,
And she must punish him for doing him wrong:
Passed, unoblivious of oblivion still;
And if she turned upon the brow o' the hill,
It was so openly, so lightly done,
You saw she thought he was not thought upon.
He through the gate went back in bitterness;
She that night woke and stirred, with no distress,
Glad of her doing,--sedulous to be glad,
Lest perhaps her foolish heart suspect that it was sad.
Francis Thompson
Other author posts
To A Poet Breaking Silence
Too wearily had we and Been left to look and left to long, Yea, song and we to long and look, Since thine acquainted feet
To Olivia
I fear to love thee, Sweet, because Love's the ambassador of loss; White flake of childhood, clinging so To my soiled raiment, thy shy snow At tenderest touch will shrink and go Love me not, delightful child
Dream tryst
The breaths of kissing night and day Were mingled in the eastern Heaven, Throbbing with unheard melody, Shook Lyra all its star-cloud seven When dusk shrank cold, and light trod shy,
By Reason Of Thy Law
Here I make oath--Although the heart that knows its Hear loath, And credit less--That he who kens to meet Pain's kisses Which hiss against his tears,