ONCE more the Morning mocks me with its scorn, The Sun derides me with its radiant face, Since you vouchsafe no word from your far place, And, lacking you, there is no joy of morn. Did you but speak, my heart would be new-born, And I -- alive again, through that dear grace Of love, that scoffs at time and conquers space -- Could laugh at those who call my fate forlorn. Why are you silent? Does your heart forget, In the proud affluence of joys untold, Old ways, old words that I remember yet And treasure, as a miser counts his gold? Is it that your far ear I cannot reach -- Or am I, earth-enslaved, deaf to Heaven's speech? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE SILVER by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE CONTRETEMPS by THOMAS HARDY THE SHADES OF NIGHT by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN TO A CHILD OF QUALITY, FIVE YEARS OLD. THE AUTHOR THAN FORTY by MATTHEW PRIOR BRONZE TRUMPETS AND SEA WATER; ON TURNING LATIN VERSE INTO ENGLISH by ELINOR WYLIE |