Poetry Archives

For so long and so long had I forgot,
          Serenely busied
With thousand things; at whiles desire grew hot
          And my soul dizzied
With hapless and insatiable salt thirst.
          Nor was I humbled
Saving with shame that, running with the worst
          My feet yet stumbled.
Pride and delight of life enchained my heart,
          My heart enchanted,
And oh, soft subtle fingers had their part,
          And eyes love-haunted.
But while my busy mind was thus intent,
          Or thus surrendered,
What was it, oh what strange thing was it sent
          Through all that hindered
A thrill that woke the buried soul in me?—
          It seemed there fluttered
A thought—or was it a sudden fear?—of Thee,
          Remote, unuttered.