Harold Hart Crane
My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands, --
No, -- nor my lips freed laughter since 'farewell',
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.
Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove's wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.
Harold Hart Crane's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Exile by Harold Hart Crane )
- Winters Coming, michael hagwood
- Whats Wrong With Me, jasmine paul
- Empty Skies, RoseAnn V. Shawiak
- wholesome girl, Brit Thompson
- An Indian English Poet, His Father Was N.., Bijay Kant Dubey
- On The Way Down, Shalom Freedman
- Beyond Beautiful, greg paul
- Winterchill, Richard Provencher
- Jungle of the English Language, Ken e Hall
- I was Dreaming, Oduro Bright Amoh