WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT
I knew the house, with its windows barr'd, and its leafless
fig-tree,
Climbing round by the doorstep the only one in the street; I knew where my hope had climb'd to its goal and there
encircled All that those desolate walls once held, my beloved's heart.
There in my grief she consoled me. She loved me when I loved not.
She put her hand in my hand, and set her lips to my lips. She told me all her pain and show'd me all her trouble.
I, like a fool, scarce heard, hardly returned her kiss.
Love, thy eyes were like torches. They changed as I beheld
them. Love, thy lips were like gems, the seal thou scttest on my
life.
Love, if I loved not then, behold this hour thy vengeance; This is the fruit of thy love and thcc, the unwise grown wise.
Weeping strangled my voice. I call'd out, but none answer'd;
Blindly the windows gazed back at me, dumbly the door, She whom I love, who loved me, look'd not on my yearning,
Gave me no more her hands to kiss, show'd me no more her soul.
Therefore the earth is dark to me, the sunlight blackness, Therefore I go in tears and alone, by night and day;
Therefore I find no love in heaven, no light, no beauty,
�� �
