poet Helen Hunt Jackson

Helen Hunt Jackson

#223 on top 500 poets

Tryst

Somewhere thou awaitest,
And I, with lips unkissed,
Weep that thus to latest
Thou puttest off our tryst!

The golden bowls are broken,
The silver cords untwine;
Almond flowers in token
Have bloomed,---that I am thine!

Others who would fly thee
In cowardly alarms,
Who hate thee and deny thee,
Thou foldest in thine arms!

How shall I entreat thee
No longer to withhold?
I dare not go to meet thee,
O lover, far and cold!

O lover, whose lips chilling
So many lips have kissed,
Come, even if unwilling,
And keep thy solemn tryst!

Poem Submitted: Friday, January 3, 2003

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2,7 out of 5
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