hands

Poem: Sonnet XXX

Love is not all: it is not meat or drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone,
Yet many a man would be making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.

It may well be, that in a difficult hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution's power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It may well be. I do not think I would.

Edna St. Vincent Malay
Indexing:

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

  • Poem: The Listeners

    - Walter de la Mare "Is there anybody there?" said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the…

  • Poem: Snow

    - Walter de la Mare No breath of wind, No gleam of sun – Still the white snow Whirls softly down Twig and bough And blade and thorn All in…

  • Poem: Brughel's Winter

    - Walter de la Mare Jagg'd mountain peaks and skies ice-green Wall in the wild, cold scene below. Churches, farms, bare copse, the sea In…