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User Rating:
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5.9
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(41 votes)
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I listen for him through the rain,
And in the dusk of starless hours
I know that he will come again;
Loth was he ever to forsake me:
He comes with glimmering of flowers
And stir of music to awake me.
Spirit of purity, he stands
As once he lived in charm and grace:
I may not hold him with my hands,
Nor bid him stay to heal my sorrow;
Only his fair, unshadowed face
Abides with me until to-morrow.
Siegfried Sassoon
| Submitted Date |
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Friday, January 03, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: sorrow, music, rain, flower
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