TO YOU—UNSUNG(Sonnet)
TO YOU—UNSUNG(Sonnet)
Howshould I sing you?—you who dwell unseenWithin the darkest chamber of my heart.What picturesque and inward-turning artCould shadow forth the image of my queen,Sweet, world aloof, ineffably sereneLike holy dawn, yet so entirely partOf what am I, as well a man might startTo paint his breathing, or his red blood’s sheen.Nay, seek yourself, who are their truest breath,In these my songs made for delight of men.Oh, where they fail, ’tis I that am in blame,But, where the words loom larger than my pen,Be sure they ring glad echoes of your name,And Love that triumphs over Life and Death.
Howshould I sing you?—you who dwell unseenWithin the darkest chamber of my heart.What picturesque and inward-turning artCould shadow forth the image of my queen,Sweet, world aloof, ineffably sereneLike holy dawn, yet so entirely partOf what am I, as well a man might startTo paint his breathing, or his red blood’s sheen.Nay, seek yourself, who are their truest breath,In these my songs made for delight of men.Oh, where they fail, ’tis I that am in blame,But, where the words loom larger than my pen,Be sure they ring glad echoes of your name,And Love that triumphs over Life and Death.
Howshould I sing you?—you who dwell unseenWithin the darkest chamber of my heart.What picturesque and inward-turning artCould shadow forth the image of my queen,Sweet, world aloof, ineffably sereneLike holy dawn, yet so entirely partOf what am I, as well a man might startTo paint his breathing, or his red blood’s sheen.
Howshould I sing you?—you who dwell unseen
Within the darkest chamber of my heart.
What picturesque and inward-turning art
Could shadow forth the image of my queen,
Sweet, world aloof, ineffably serene
Like holy dawn, yet so entirely part
Of what am I, as well a man might start
To paint his breathing, or his red blood’s sheen.
Nay, seek yourself, who are their truest breath,In these my songs made for delight of men.Oh, where they fail, ’tis I that am in blame,But, where the words loom larger than my pen,Be sure they ring glad echoes of your name,And Love that triumphs over Life and Death.
Nay, seek yourself, who are their truest breath,
In these my songs made for delight of men.
Oh, where they fail, ’tis I that am in blame,
But, where the words loom larger than my pen,
Be sure they ring glad echoes of your name,
And Love that triumphs over Life and Death.