Poem of the day

by Gilbert Parker (1862-1932)

When you and I have play’d the little hour,
   Have seen the tall subaltern Life to Death
   Yield up his sword; and, smiling, draw the breath,
The first long breath of freedom; when the flower
Of Recompense hath flutter’d to our feet,
   As to an actor’s; and, the curtain down,
   We turn to face each other all alone—
Alone, we two, who never yet did meet,
Alone, and absolute, and free: O then,
   O then, most dear, how shall be told the tale?
Clasp’d hands, press’d lips, and so clasp’d hands again;
   No words. But as the proud wind fills the sail,
      My love to yours shall reach, then one deep moan
      Of joy, and then our infinite. Alone.

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