Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Wilfrid Scawen Blunt Poems
A Dream Of Good
To do some little good before I die;
To wake some echoes to a loftier theme;
To spend my life's last store of industry
On thoughts less vain than Youth's discordant dream;
To endow the world's grief with some counter--scheme
Of logical hope which through all time should lighten
The burden of men's sorrow and redeem
Their faces' paleness from the tears that whiten;
To take my place in the world's brotherhood
As one prepared to suffer all its fate;
To do and be undone for sake of good,
And conquer rage by giving love for hate;
That were a noble dream, and ...
The Desolate City
DARK to me is the earth. Dark to me are the heavens.
Where is she that I loved, the woman with eyes like stars?
Desolate are the streets. Desolate is the city.
A city taken by storm, where none are left but the slain.
Sadly I rose at dawn, undid the latch of my shutters,
Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love.
Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen'd to their chaunting;
Each one sang to his love;