Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(1840 - 1922 / England)

Not A Word - Poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Love, my heart is faint with waiting,
Faint with hope and joy deferred,
All night long at this sad grating,
Sleepless like a prisoned bird,
Singing low,
Singing slow:
Come, ah come, love.--Not a word!

Love, in vain for thee this token
Did I tie, poor silken cord,
To my window. See, 'tis broken
And the strands fly heavenward.
All are free,
All but me.
Come, ah come, love.--Not a word!

Lo, the first sad streak of morning
Cleaves the heaven like a sword.
Love, too late I hear the warning,
Of thy footstep on the sward.
Yet, ah yet,
Though 'tis late,
Come; but mind, love, not a word!

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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010

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