For there were nights . . . my love to him whose brow Has glistened with the spoils of nights like those, Home turning as a conqueror turns home, What time green dawn down every street uprears Arches of triumph! He has drained as well Joy's perfumed bowl and cried as I have cried: Be Fame their mistress whom Love passes by. This only matters: from some flowery bed, Laden with sweetness like a homing bee, If one have known what bliss it is to come, Bearing on hands and breast and laughing lips The fragrance of his youth's dear rose. To him The hills have bared their treasure, the far clouds Unveiled the vision that o'er summer seas Drew on his thirsting arms. This last thing known, He can court danger, laugh at perilous odds, And, pillowed on a memory so sweet, Unto oblivious eternity Without regret yield his victorious soul, The blessed pilgrim of a vow fulfilled. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RECOLLECTIONS OF LOVE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE VALENTINES TO MY MOTHER: 1883 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI THE MULBERRY GARDEN: CHILD AND MAIDEN by CHARLES SEDLEY STEADFASTNESS; THE LOVER BESEECHETH HIS MISTRESS by THOMAS WYATT IMAGES: 3 by RICHARD ALDINGTON A CHRISTMAS HYMN by CECIL FRANCES ALEXANDER PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 69. AL-MAKUTADIR by EDWIN ARNOLD THE QUAKER POET; VERSES ON SEEING MYSELF SO DESIGNATED by BERNARD BARTON |