Do please lift your priceless brow. Let wonder fill and freeze.
Steadfast and marching further now. Do keep the pace I please.
The wind hast' all but twist the sail, and night shall take the blame.
And we shall raise our weary heads from summer staking claim.
Be not torrid, fit or foul as more the field you borrow.
nor let it yield upon you there, sweet, succulented sorrow.
No, least you rise and journey still to prize the golden toy.
And love until your love's of size to help you over joy.
The Poetaster Aug/2013
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Comments about this poem (A Love by Thomas Adams )
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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