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Wilfrid Scawen Blunt - He Makes An End
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What shall I tell you, dear, who have told all,
 What do, whose wish, whose will is manacled,
 What dare, whose duty at your festival
 Is but to light the candles round Love`s bed?
 How can I sing to you uncomforted
 By any crumb of kindness Joy lets fall?
 Unsexed am I by service, heart and head.
 Nay, let me sleep and turn me to the wall.
 --Alas there is a day when all joy dies,
 Through stress of time and tears` thin nourishment
 And that dumb peace of Age which veils the end.
 Here am I come, and here I close my eyes,
 With what I may of dreams (they naught portend),
 Framing your face, the last before Love went.
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