New Poems by Francis Thompson
page 7 of 153 (04%)
page 7 of 153 (04%)
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Lovelily her lucid body with that light was inter-
strewn. VII The sun which lit that garden wholly, Low and vibrant visible, Tempered glory woke; And it seem-ed solely Like a silver thurible Solemnly swung, slowly, Fuming clouds of golden fire, for a cloud of incense- smoke. VIII But woe's me, and woe's me, For the secrets of her eyes! In my visions fearfully They are ever shown to be As fring-ed pools, whereof each lies Pallid-dark beneath the skies Of a night that is But one blear necropolis. And her eyes a little tremble, in the wind of her own sighs. IX Many changes rise on |
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