Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poems

The thought of night consoled him. To his vision
Natalia was dead only in false death,
The sleeping treason of some false misprision,
...

But, when the church was hushed in the night wind,
And all were gone who might his zeal disclaim,
Or hinder the firm purpose of his mind,
...

And, feeling round him, lo, upon the mould
A pick and spade cast down by accident.
And Adrian laughed when in those engines cold
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And still the music sounded near and near,
Loud and more loud on Adrian's nuptial way,
Preluding soft, as 'twere a dulcimer,
...

Je rêve debout devant la porte
Qui vient de se fermer sur moi.
Je colle mes yeux en triste sorte
Sur ce carré de sombre bois.
...

So he departed angry and in haste,
A bitter wanderer on the ways of life:
He cared not whither so he found a feast
...

But with full daylight finding no relief,
Though he had spent the newness of his fears
And looked with altered eyes upon his grief,
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Away! Away! Away with her, young lover,
Away with her in haste lest dawn should break;
If that her kinsmen should thy deed discover
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Behold, this hour I love, as in the glory of morn.
I too, the accursèd one, whom griefs pursue
Like phantoms through a land of deaths forlorn,
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At such a time indeed of youth's first morn,
There is a heaving of the soul in pain,
A mighty labour as of joys unborn,
...