WHAT shall I tell you, dear, who have told all, What do, whose wish, whose will is manacled, What dare, whose duty at your festival Is but to light the candles round Love's bed? How can I sing to you uncomforted By any crumb of kindness Joy lets fall? Unsexed am I by service, heart and head. Nay, let me sleep and turn me to the wall. —Alas there is a day when all joy dies, Through stress of time and tears' thin nourishment And that dumb peace of Age which veils the end. Here am I come, and here I close my eyes, With what I may of dreams (they naught portend), Framing your face, the last before Love went. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO A CHILD OF QUALITY, FIVE YEARS OLD. THE AUTHOR THAN FORTY by MATTHEW PRIOR COBWEBS by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE SUN'S TRAVELS by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE CITY OF DREADFUL NIGHT: 21 by JAMES THOMSON (1834-1882) SONNET by WILLIAM ALEXANDER (1567-1640) THY DREAMS OMINOUS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE RETURN OF THE DRUSES; A TRAGEDY by ROBERT BROWNING |