WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT
This, I said in my heart, is the hour of life and of pleasure.
Now each creature on earth has his joy, and lives in the sun, Each in another's eyes finds light, the light of compassion,
This is the moment of pity, this is the moment of love.
Speak, O desolate city' Speak, O silence in sadness'
Where is she that I loved in my strength, that spoke to
my soul? Where are those passionate eyes that appeal'd to my eyes in
passion ?
Where is the mouth that kiss'd me, the breast I laid to my own?
Speak, thou soul of my soul, for rage in my heart is kindled.
Tell me, where didst thou flee in the day of destruction
and fear? See, my arms still enfold thee, enfolding thus all heaven,
See, my desire is f ulfilPd in thee, for it fills the earth.
Thus in my grief I lamented. Then turn'd I from the
window, Turn'd to the stair, and the open door, and the empty
street,
Crying aloud in my grief, for there was none to chide me, None to mock my weakness, none to behold my tears.
Groping I went, as blind. I sought her house, my beloved's There I stopp'd at the bilent door, and listcn'd and tried
the latch. Love, I cried, dost thou slumber? This is no hour for
slumber,
This is the hour of love, and love I bring in my hand.
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