Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(1840 - 1922 / England)

Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: Xliii - Poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

How shall I tell my fall? The life of man
Is but a tale of tumbles, this way thrown
At his beginning by mere haste of plan
In the first gaping ditch with flowers o'ergrown;
Anon more cautious for his wounded knees,
Yet falling still through much expectancy;
And so to age, the goal of his heart's ease,
Stumbling in blindness on he knows not why.
How shall I tell it? As the poets tell
Who wrap love in a garment of vain light?
Or plainly naked, the poor child of Hell
And laughter that it is and starless night?
I like the truth best. Yet this love, sad thing,
Mired and defiled, I saw it once a king.

Comments about Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: Xliii by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

There is no comment submitted by members..

Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010

[Report Error]