THROUGH wild by-ways I come to you, my love, Nor ask of those I meet the surest way, What way I turn I cannot go astray And miss you in my life. Though Fate may prove A tardy guide she will not make delay Leading me through strange seas and distant lands, I'm coming still, though slowly, to your hands. We'll meet one day. There is so much to do, so little done, In my life's space that I perforce did leave Love at the moonlit trysting-place to grieve Till fame and other little things were won. I have missed much that I shall not retrieve, Far will I wander yet with much to do. Much will I spurn before I yet meet you, So fair I can't deceive. Your name is in the whisper of the woods Like Beauty calling for a poet's song To one whose harp had suffered many a wrong In the lean hands of Pain. And when the broods Of flower eyes waken all the streams along In tender whiles, I feel most near to you: -- Oh, when we meet there shall be sun and blue Strong as the spring is strong. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOMESDAY BOOK: FATHER WHIMSETT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DRIFTERS: BELLA COOLA TO WILLIAMS LAKE by KAREN SWENSON AT SUNSET TIME by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR SEASHORE (1) by RALPH WALDO EMERSON WHEN JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME by PATRICK SARSFIELD GILMORE THE TWINS by HENRY SAMBROOKE LEIGH STILL FALLS THE RAIN; THE RAIDS, 1940. NIGHT AND DAWN by EDITH SITWELL |