WHEN intervals of solitude are done, Or nearly done, what brimming utmost bliss! My wings disturb my lonely chrysalis To go to thee! I open one by one, To ease delight, thy casements to the sun; Prepare thy chamber where thy follies miss Thee, too; then tip-toe with my treasured kiss, And love that weighs my thrilling breast, I run To meet thy coming; -- pause in sweet suspense Too soon upon the doorstep -- else delay; I almost see thee -- balm to aching sight! What gladness, mingling with an equal sense Of soaring desolation, lest thou stay And leave the house and me deserted quite! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE JOY OF WRITING by WISLAWA SZYMBORSKA NOW AND AFTERWARDS by DINAH MARIA MULOCK CRAIK AT MAGNOLIA CEMETERY by HENRY TIMROD O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! by WALT WHITMAN A DRINKING SONG by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS URANIA; THE WOMAN IN THE MOON: THE FIRST CANTO, OR NEW MOON by WILLIAM BASSE |