Dante Gabriel Rossetti (Данте Габриэль Россетти)

The House of Life. Sonnet 25. Winged Hours

Each hour until we meet is as a bird
That wings from far his gradual way along
The rustling covert of my soul,--his song
Still loudlier trilled through leaves more deeply stirr'd:
But at the hour of meeting, a clear word
Is every note he sings, in Love's own tongue;
Yet, Love, thou know'st the sweet strain suffers wrong,
Full oft through our contending joys unheard.

What of that hour at last, when for her sake
No wing may fly to me nor song may flow;
When, wandering round my life unleaved, I know
The bloodied feathers scattered in the brake,
And think how she, far from me, with like eyes
Sees through the untuneful bough the wingless skies?

1. The House of Life. Sonnet 14. Youth's Spring-Tribute
2. The House of Life. Sonnet 99. Newborn Death - 1
3. The House of Life. Sonnet 40. Severed Selves
4. The House of Life. Sonnet 44. Cloud and Wind
5. The House of Life. Sonnet 70. The Hill Summit

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