Icelandic Choir (The)
Sonnets/Unrealities XI
It may not always be so, and I sayThat if your lips, which i have loved, should touchAnother's, and your dear strong fingers clutchHis heart, as mine in time not far awayIf on another's face your sweet hair layIn such a silence as I know, or suchGreat writhing words as, uttering overmuchStand helplessly before the spirit at bayIf this should be, I say if this should beYou of my heart, send me a little wordThat I may go unto her, and take her handsSaying, accept all happiness from meThen shall I turn my face, and hear one birdSing terribly afar in the lost lands
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