FROM all the long, bright daytime's restlessness, Through starlight's broken promise of redress, From eyes that care not, hands that cannot bless, Down all the wintry, withered, endless train Of years that flowered in hope to fruit in pain, I claim no happiness. Sweet soul, that art so rich in blessed store, See all my hungry heart, my need is sore; Oh, if thou holdest it, withhold no more! Let not that wandering hope, that blind with tears, Comes down to me through all the desert years, Drop dead, even at the door. What wistful thought thou darest not confess Shadows thy dawn-lit eyes with tenderness? What timid stir as of a mute caress Dares only thrill thy trembling finger-tips -- What word waits, dumb and quivering, at thy lips? O Love, my happiness! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE VOICELESS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES JACK CREAMER [OCTOBER 25, 1812] by JAMES JEFFREY ROCHE THE ROSE (2) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A QUESTION by JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE MR. STOTHARD TO MR. CROMEK by WILLIAM BLAKE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 37. TO ONE WHO WOULD 'REMAIN FRIENDS' by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |