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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXV
Work rating: Low

My childhood, then, had passed a mystery
 Shrouded by death, my boyhood a shut thing.
 The passion of my soul as it grew free
 With growing youth, a bird with broken wing,
 Knew nothing of its strength to dare or do,
 Or, if it dreamed of battle still to come,
 That was its secret hidden in the blue
 Of life`s great vault of tears which was its doom,
 A duty of revenge some day for blood.
 Enough! You know I held me from the press
 To whom base things are nothing, that I stood
 Parted from this world`s weekday wickedness
 By a whole legend of romance sublime,
 Perhaps by the dead virtue of a crime.
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