My love for thee doth take me unaware, When most with lesser things my brain is wrought, As in some nimble interchange of thought The silence enters, and the talkers stare. Suddenly I am still and thou art there, A viewless visitant and unbesought, And all my thinking trembles into nought And all my being opens like a prayer. Thou art the lifted Chalice in my soul, And I a dim church at the thought of thee; Brief be the moment, but the mass is said, The benediction like an aureole Is on my spirit, and shuddering through me A rapture like the rapture of the dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET by ALBERT GORTON GREENE DREAM-LOVE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI SONNET: 144 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THE SWING by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON THE SILENT VOICES by ALFRED TENNYSON HOME'S A NEST by WILLIAM BARNES HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 5 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |