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Poem by Francis Thompson
I looked, she drooped, and neither spake, and cold, We stood, how unlike all forecasted thought Of that desir-ed minute! Then I leaned Doubting; whereat she lifted--oh, brave eyes Unfrighted:--forward like a wind-blown flame Came bosom and mouth to mine! That falling kiss Touching long-laid expectance, all went up Suddenly into passion; yea, the night Caught, blazed, and wrapt us round in vibrant fire. Time's beating wing subsided, and the winds Caught up their breathing, and the world's great pulse Stayed in mid-throb, and the wild train of life Reeled by, and left us stranded on a hush. This moment is a statue unto Love Carved from a fair white silence. Lo, he stands Within us--are we not one now, one, one roof, His roof, and the partition of weak flesh Gone down before him, and no more, for ever?-- Stands like a bird new-lit, and as he lit, Poised in our quiet being; only, only Within our shaken hearts the air of passion, Cleft by his sudden coming, eddies still And whirs round his enchanted movelessness. A film of trance between two stirrings! Lo, It bursts; yet dream's snapped links cling round the limbs Of waking: like a running evening stream Which no man hears, or sees, or knows to run, (Glazed with dim quiet), save that there the moon Is shattered to a creamy flicker of flame, Our eyes' sweet trouble were hid, save that the love Trembles a little on their impassioned calms.
Francis Thompson's other poems:
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