The Nineteenth Century

She walks the night with soft unsandalled tread,

And shrinks from morning, as from secret shame:

A sapphire diadem adorns her head;

And in her heart resides a rose of flame:

 

Her fingers, fashioned for celestial lyres

Or for the beads of love's sweet rosary;

Her eyes, composed of cool immortal fires;

Her words, arrayed in star-bright purity.

 

Bless my solitude, lucent muse of night!

(Prays the poet in dimly cloistered room) --

Obliterate the vestiges of fright!

Rescue my soul from bleak enduring gloom!

 

Will she, incarnate moon, dream-petalled flower,

Consent to consecrate his darkest hour?

 

 

Thomas DeFreitas

2015





Poetry by thos edw def The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 69 times
Written on 2017-07-15 at 01:23

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Jamsbo Rockda The PoetBay support member heart!
Beautifully written. I wonder what the answer is? It was a century of prose and hidden feelings and you bring it to life so well.
2017-07-20


Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
The rhymes, the choice of words, even certain images, such a "secret shame," reflect that century. In this century, one has neither secrets nor shame.
2017-07-18


one trick pony The PoetBay support member heart!
Nineteenth century, but:

"(Prays the poet [and poetess] in dimly cloistered room) --"

is timeless, as is the sonnet form.
2017-07-17


ken d williams The PoetBay support member heart!
Bravo, Tom.
Ken
2017-07-15