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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - A Woman’s Sonnets: III
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Where is the pride for which I once was blamed,
 My vanity which held its head so high?
 Who would believe them, seeing me thus tamed,
 Thus subject, here as at thy feet I lie,
 Pleading for love which now is all my life,
 Craving a word for memory`s rage to keep,
 Asking a sign to still my inward strife,
 Petitioning a touch to soothe my sleep?
 Who would now guess them, as I kiss the ground
 On which the feet of him I love have trod,
 And bow before his voice whose least sweet sound
 Speaks louder to me than the voice of God;
 And knowing all the while that one dark day,
 Spite of my worship, thou wilt turn away?
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