Year: 2000
Type: article
Abstract: The freshness of the light, its secrecy, Spices, or honey from sweet-smelling bower, The harmony of time, love’s trembling hour Struck on thee with a new felicity. Standing, a child, by a red hawthorn-tree, Its perishing, small petals’ flame had power To fill with masses of soft, ruddy flower A certain roadside in thy memory: And haply when the tragic clouds of night Were slowly wrapping round thee, in the cold Of which men always die, a sense renewed Of the things sweet to touch and breath and sight, That thou didst touch and breathe and see of old Stole on these with the warmth of gratitude.1
Source: Victorian poetry
DOI: 10.1353/vp.2000.0012
Author: Ana Parejo Vadillo
Language: English
Subfield: Literature and Literary Theory
Field: Arts and Humanities
Domain: Social Sciences
Open Access status: bronze
OpenAlex ID: W2111407540