Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900.djvu/1022

 Sadly I rose at dawn, undid the latch of my shutters, Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love. Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen'd to their chaunting; Each one sang to his love; only I was alone.

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 fulfill'd 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 belovèd's. There I stopp'd at the silent door, and listen'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.