Alice Meynell


I MUST not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
    I shun the love that lurks in all delight—
    The love of thee—and in the blue heaven's height,
And in the dearest passage of a song.
Oh, just beyond the sweetest thoughts that throng
    This breast, the thought of thee waits hidden yet bright;
    But it must never, never come in sight;
I must stop short of thee the whole day long.
But when sleep comes to close each difficult day,
    When night gives pause to the long watch I keep,
And all my bonds I needs must loose apart,
Must doff my will as raiment laid away,—
    With the first dream that comes with the first sleep
I run, I run, I am gather'd to thy heart.

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About the poet
Alice Meynell
By the same poet
The Lady of the Lambs
Related books
Alice Meynell at amazon.com

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