|ELCore.Net > Poetry > Catholic Poets > Poems of Ernest Dowson|
Even now the fragrant darkness of her hair|
Had brushed my cheek; and once, in passing by,
Her hand upon my hand lay tranquilly:
What things unspoken trembled in the air!
Always I know, how little severs me|
From mine hearts country, that is yet so far;
And must I lean and long across a bar,
That half a word would shatter utterly?
Ah might it be, that just by touch of hand,|
Or speaking silence, shall the barrier fall;
And she shall pass, with no vain words at all,
But droop into mine arms, and understand!
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Lane Core Jr. (email@example.com)
Created November 12, 2002; not revised.