Sonnet-Sequence - Part 4

Where art thou, Love! Lo, I am crucified
Here on the bitter tree of my suspense,
And my soul travails in my quivering side,
Wild with the passionate longing to go hence.
Where would it voyage, lost, bewildered soul
If from the body's warm white home it strayed:
Even as the wild-fox would it find its hole,
Even as the fowls of the air would it find shade?
Yea, dear, with winnowing wings there would it fly
To fold them on the whiteness of thy breast,
And all its passion breathe into thy sigh,
Fulfil the uttermost peace of perfect rest
And passing into thee as its last goal
Should know no more this bitter-sweet control.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.