Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

(1840 - 1922 / England)

The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part Ii: To Juliet: Xli - Poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

THE SAME CONTINUED
We may not meet. I could not for pride's sake
Dissemble further, and I suffer pain,
A palpable distinct and physical ache,
When our eyes meet by accident, and when
I hear you talk in your pathetic strain
Which always moved me. Only yesterday,
As I was standing with a crowd of men
In the long corridor, you came my way
And chanced to stop, and thus by chance I heard
A score of phrases uttered in that sad
Half--suppliant voice which once my spirit stirred
To its foundations. Yet your theme was glad--
Strangers your hearers. What was in these spells
To move me still? A trick, and nothing else!


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Poem Submitted: Tuesday, April 13, 2010



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