A Fleeting Passion

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A Fleeting Passion
written by William Henry Davies
From "The Bird of Paradise", 1914 Link to further information




Thou shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp,
  Let's grimly kiss with bated breath;
As quietly and solemnly
  As Life when it is kissing Death.
Now in the silence of the grave,
  My hand is squeezing that soft breast;
While thou dost in such passion lie,
  It mocks me with its look of rest.

But when the morning comes at last,
  And we must part, our passions cold,
You'll think of some new feather, scarf
  To buy with my small piece of gold;
And I'll be dreaming of green lanes,
  Where little things with beating hearts
Hold shining eyes between the leaves,
  Till men with horses pass, and carts.

SemiPD-icon.png This work is in the public domain in countries where the copyright term is the author's life plus 70 years or less.

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