O UNKNOWN Belov'd One! to the perfect season Branches in the lawn make drooping bow'rs; Vase and plot burn scarlet, gold, and azure; Honeysuckles wind the tall grey turret, And pale passion-flow'rs. Come thou, come thou to my lonely thought, O Unknown Belov'd One. Now, at evening twilight, dusky dew down-wavers, Soft stars crown the grove-encircled hill; Breathe the new-mown meadows, broad and misty; Through the heavy grass the rail is talking; All beside is still. Trace with me the wandering avenue, Thou Unknown Belov'd One. In the mystic realm, and in the time of visions, I thy lover have no need to woo; There I hold thy hand in mine, thou dearest, And thy soul in mine, and feel its throbbing, Tender, deep, and true: Then my tears are love, and thine are love, Thou Unknown Belov'd One! Is thy voice a wavelet on the listening darkness? Are thine eyes unfolding from their veil? Wilt thou come before the signs of winter -- Days that shred the bough with trembling fingers, Nights that weep and wail? Art thou Love indeed, or art thou Death, O Unknown Belov'd One? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEATH'S VALLEY by WALT WHITMAN IN PRAISE OF A COUNTRY LIFE by PHILIP AYRES SHEKLA: A VISION by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE CALL TO ARMS by CARL JOHN BOSTELMANN EXTEMPORE, ON MR. WILLIAM SMELLIE by ROBERT BURNS |