The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVIII

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt 1840 (Petworth House) – 1922 (United Kingdom)



HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE IS DEAD
My love is dead, dead and in spite of me,--
Dead while I lived,--while yet my blood was rife
With hope and pleasure and the pride of life.
For my love ended unexpectedly
During the Winter, stricken like a tree
By a night's cold, and frozen to the blood,
Whose leaves fell off and never were renewed
By any promise of the years to be.
And, when the Spring came, and the birds, to mate
Among its branches, lo! they found it bare,
Though all around was Summer in the wood.
Yet they took heart awhile, incredulous
That such a tree should be for ever dead.
``'Tis early yet,'' they cried. ``The Spring is late.
It shall still be as in the days that were.''
But Summer came and went while the tree stood
Bare in the sun like a deserted house.
--Then the birds suddenly despaired and fled.

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Submitted on May 13, 2011

Modified on March 05, 2023

48 sec read
67

Quick analysis:

Scheme ABCCBBDEBFGHIAFJHKA
Closest metre Iambic pentameter
Characters 805
Words 162
Stanzas 1
Stanza Lengths 19

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

Wilfrid Scawen Blunt was an English poet and writer. more…

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