Henry Treece

(22 December 1911 – 10 June 1966 / Wednesbury, Staffordshire)

Revenente


The bells of memory sound this summer day
Down the long alleys of the blue-skied years;
Shy cowslip, thyme, the haunting scent of hay,
Pleached gardens nourished by a lover's tears,
And honeysuckle, shy maid in the hedge,
Are all Her handmaids; blessed is the sight
The mirror-pool caught of Her. So the stage
Is set for entrance, and a girl in white
Walks in my heart again, out of pale death,
Kingdom of shrivelled mouth and powdering bone,
Touching my cheek with flower-laden breath,
And whispering, 'Poor love, and still alone?'
Was any man so lucky, dear God?
It will be dawn before She takes the road.

Submitted: Saturday, April 28, 2012

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