If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to My breast.

-George Herbert

Friday, August 27, 2010

He Beholds the Beloved: Sonnet 4

This is the fourth sonnet in a sequence which begins with "The Faerie Lover". (The painting is by Sir Edward Burne-Jones)

He Beholds the Beloved

A river murm'ring through a wooded vale
Is like your beauty: from a thousand springs
And freshets of pure silver - rill on rill -
Accumulates a flood of glitterings

Which daze the subtle senses. Womanly
In intellect, in warmth, in form, in voice,
In motion, in repose - essentially -
You flow in beauty's streaming, bright embrace;

Yet secretly, as if the breathless trees
In verdure veiled from senses unrefined
Reflection of your liquid loveliness;
The thousand fluid charms in you aligned.

Grant this one favor may to me be shown:
Let me but lean to taste your mouth, and drown.

-by Wayward Disciple