The Deluge, and Other Poems

Love, it is dark among your roses; And how, since the nightingales are fled, Can I tell your heart how my heart is lowly, To touch the ground where your sandals tread?

The air is heavy, all the winds are still So that my own breath hangs about my head Like incense o'er an altar. Now the earth Lies in a swoon, and all the flowers droop Weightin...

Ah me, your fears have settled on my heart; I fear the very day, there is a strange Portentous look o'er all the earth, my hand Stretched in the sunlight seems to throw no shade...