THE APOSTROPHE
Go, unsaid thought, wordless and songless both!
With fluttering pinions, still unseen, unsought,
Circle the spirit's white flame like a moth—
Go—unsaid thought!
With fluttering pinions, still unseen, unsought,
Circle the spirit's white flame like a moth—
Go—unsaid thought!
Go to the one by whom my soul is taught;
Go—wing your joyous journey, nothing loth
Like sunbeams in the hearts of lilies caught.
Go—wing your joyous journey, nothing loth
Like sunbeams in the hearts of lilies caught.
Like perfume that eludes, yet lingereth;—
Until your subtle mission 's fully wrought—
To charm, as a dear dream's pale image doth,—
Go—unsaid thought!
Until your subtle mission 's fully wrought—
To charm, as a dear dream's pale image doth,—
Go—unsaid thought!