The Golden book of Modern English Poetry 1870 1920
The Golden book of Modern English Poetry 1870 1920
Thomas Caldwell
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Ah, friends, I know it passing well, the love Wherewith I love ; it shall not bring to me Return or hire or any pleasant thing Ay, I have tried it : Ay, I know its roots. Earthquake and plague have burst on it in vain And rolled back shattered Babbling neophytes ! Blind, startled fools think you I know it not ? Think you to teach me ? Know I not His ways ? Strange visaged blunders, mystic cruelties. All ! All ! I know Him, for I love Him. Go ! So, with the wan waste grasses on my spear, I ride ...for ever, seeking after God. My hair grows whiter than my thistle plume, And all my limbs are loose ; but in my eyes The star of an unconquerable praise : For in my soul one hope for ever sings, That at the next white corner of a road My eyes may look on Him. . . . MODERN ENGLISH VERSE 213 Hush I shall know The place when it is found : a twisted path Under a twisted pear-tree this I saw In the first dream I had ere I was born, Wherein He spoke. . . . But the grey clouds come down In hail upon the icy plains : I ride, Burning for ever in consuming fire.
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