WE break the glass, whose sacred wine To some beloved health we drain, Lest future pledges, less divine, Should e'er the hallowed toy profane; And thus I broke a heart that poured Its tide of feelings out for thee, In draught, by after-times deplored, Yet dear to memory. But still the old, impassioned ways And habits of my mind remain, And still unhappy light displays Thine image chambered in my brain, And still it looks as when the hours Went by like flights of singing birds, Or that soft chain of spoken flowers And airy gems, -- thy words. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOUR SONNETS: 1 by FRANK DAVIS ASHBURN BRITANNIA TO COLUMBIA by ALFRED AUSTIN THE LONG TRUCE by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE WET WOODS by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE THE MADONNA OF THE EARTH by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH |