Sonnet Vi Poem by Philip Henry Savage

I CANNOT face the utterance of a prayer
In innocence; I know not by what gate
Egress it finds beyond the fields of air;
In what vain corridor my words may wait.
A mystic once, I did communicate
With my own self and thought with God to share
My hope and aspiration; but of late
My words, like Noah's dove, returning bare,
I feel the confines of my spirit's heaven.
Against the limits of myself in vain
They strike and bruise their wings and downward fall.
Then to myself, Peace! do I cry, and call
That sufferance peace which yet is perfect pain:
In courage, Peace! when there is no peace given.