Page:Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918.djvu/1030

 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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