Memory

Soft follower of the early star,
Once more I feel you drawing near.
Come! for my evening is not come
Till you are here.

You make it—as yourself is made—
Of loveliest, sweet, untroubled things,
Fled with love's day. I feel love's night
Fall from your wings.
Translation: 
Language: 
Rate this poem: 

Reviews

No reviews yet.