Love, I shall never compare you to a bright star,
Humbly, would I were steadfast as you naturally are
Nor in compare to the lone splendor hung aloft the long night
And watching, with eternal lids apart the stars bright,
The moving waters of ocean and rivers at their holy task
Of pure ablution round the earth human shores,
Nor in measure of gazing on the new soft-fallen white mask
Of snow upon the mountains and the vast dark moors
Yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
Pillowed upon your fair ripening breast,
To feel for ever the lovely valley and its soft fall and swell,
Awake for ever in a sweet rapture of plaguing unrest
Beneath that breast, to hear your tender-taken breath,
A picture, a scene I worship to my final death.
Copy Rights 2010
All Rights reserved
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem