The Lover Poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
The Lover
He walks like one enchanted,
Whose soul is held in thrall,
By some sweet presence haunted
Who passed unseen by all.
He speaks as half-forgetting
The hearers that are by,
He sighs as though regretting
Some dear and soft reply.
It is a lover's rapture,
Naught doth he see or hear,
His heart is held in capture
Unto some mistress dear.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
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4/25/2024 1:45:10 AM # 1.0.0.1119
