Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poems

Oh, for a perfect sonnet of all time!
Wild music, heralding immortal hopes,
Strikes the bold prelude. To it from each clime,
...

I touched that knee. She did not show surprise,
And the earth had not opened at our feet.
She did not even laugh. Her foolish eyes
...

My childhood, then, had passed a mystery
Shrouded by death, my boyhood a shut thing.
The passion of my soul as it grew free
...

Thus through these griefs I had been set apart,
As for a double priesthood. Life to me,
In those first moments when I probed my heart,
...

At this fair oak table sat
Whilom he our Laureate,
Poet, handicraftsman, sage,
...

Beyond her sat a second monster. She
In shape and sense was undisguisedly real,
An ox--eyed queen of full--fed majesty
...

Nor yet in vain. For to him through the rout
Behold, 'mid herald whispers of her name
And laughing eyes and welcome hands held out,
...

Yet so it was. Adrian had hardly set
His lips to those cold lips where death had been,
His eyes those clammy eyelids scarce had wet
...

But where he fared and how, it matters not.
He and his mourning ere a month had run
Were out of mind with all and clean forgot,
...

Until it happened, as such things will be,
That she, who had a proud man for her spouse
None the less loving that unloved was he,
...