I THOUGHT, beloved, to have brought to you
A gift of quietness and ease and peace,
Cooling your brow as with the mystic dew
    Dropping from twilight trees.
 

Homeward I go not yet; the darkness grows;
Not mine the voice to still with peace divine:
From the first fount the stream of quiet flows
    Through other hearts than mine.
 

Yet of my night I give to you the stars,
And of my sorrow here the sweetest gains,
And out of hell, beyond its iron bars,
    My scorn of all its pains.

Added: May 12 2003 | Viewed: 2283 times | Comments (0)

Poet: George William Russell
Poem: 16. 16. The Gift
Volume: Collected Poems by A.E.
Year: Published/Written in 1913
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