Thou art fled
by D. L. Fitzpatrick
Thursday, March 20, 2003
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Love is sometimes the stuff of sorrow...
Thou art fled, and I am transfigured
I feel an awful crumbling in my
A slow stripping away of
Thus, the rise of pain and vain
Whereinto I behold thy lovely
Thy starbright eyes and thy beautious
A thousand pictures of thee flood my
I see thee in the sunshine and the
I hear thy voice whispering, I loveth
Which thou knowes't made a king of
But thou art gone and thy king is
And, like a wanton begger filled with
I shall but drift and stumble on the
Loving thee 'til the end of all my
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|Reviewed by T. Emilie Dybevik (Reader)
|"And, like a wanton begger filled with
Dread" ~ I like this description, it gets into emotion... This sounds like a love unrequitted. Some people DO live like this and that makes this very sad. To read your words....is like watching a really good ballet. I just love how it unfolds. Thanking you...Teresa
|Reviewed by Birdie Houston
|Thy speaketh as a thousand breezes surging through thy willows beautiful piece masterful Encore ! Encore ! Standing ovation|
|Reviewed by Elizabeth Taylor (Reader)
|Thee has created a good poem.