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Robert Crawford

(1868 - 13 January 1930 / Australia)

At Love's Beginning.


I might not have it then — I might not, yet
She was so near to me, could I forget
She might be nearer? There was in her eyes —
What shall I say? — a hint of the sunrise
Of her heart's day: would it then break on me
In my life's glory, or should I but see
The malediction of that morning pour
Disaster on my heart for evermore?
I did not know, and all I was became
A hush, a wonder. I scarce breathed her name,
Scarce dared to read her eyes too deeply, lest
Wrath in their tenderness should be exprest;
When suddenly love's lightning ran a streak
Up the white throat into the pallid cheek;
Her eyes took wonder too — and even thus
What we to either were, revealed to us,
Rose like God's heaven, at once, in such a way
For aye; and her eyes fell as mine took sway
Upon the moment when she knew it all,
And knew in knowing it beyond recall
Was the confession which her heart had made
With eyes, not lips, ere lips to mine were laid —
That mystic moment, when all she was drew
Out of herself, as all that I was too,
Emptied of self, then found itself in her.

Submitted: Wednesday, April 21, 2010

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