Harold Hart Crane (21 July 1899 – 27 April 1932 / Garrettsville, Ohio)
My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, --
No, -- nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell',
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.
Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove's wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
Comments about this poem (Exile by Harold Hart Crane )
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