<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536477" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Love After Sorrow</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behold, this hour I love, as in the glory of morn.<br>I too, the accursèd one, whom griefs pursue<br>Like phantoms through a land of deaths forlorn,<br>Have felt my heart leap up with courage new.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Behold, I love. The tragedy of hate's derision<br>Has like a storm--cloud vanished and is done.<br>High in its path my hope has burst its prison<br>And stands transfigured, a resplendent sun.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where are the ghosts of sorrow that beset my road,<br>The foes that mocked, the fools that fled from me?<br>Peace be their portion all who sought my blood.<br>I care not for fear's bondage who am free.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O days of youth renewed! Love's voice, a singing bird's,<br>Thrills me to tears more sweet than laughters are.<br>His silence godlike speaks to me in words<br>Dearer than minstrelsy in lands afar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">These halls, e'erwhile of pride, my sorrow's palaces,<br>Are decked for joy, and with high pomps and shows<br>Proclaim his lordship of all life that is<br>In passionate echoes of remembered vows.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The gardens are grown thick once more with scent of flowers<br>Moss--roses by the wall, sweet lavenders,<br>Larkspurs, red lilies. Who shall tell what dowers<br>Of musks and mallows golden shall be hers?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hers? Whose? Oh, if a tongue should tell of dreams unwise<br>And love might blazon love to ears abroad,<br>How would I speak! But let this word suffice,<br>That to my lips one name leaps like a sword,</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And that I live once more and love all sentient things,<br>The spirit of the Earth, and the Sun's fire,<br>And the night's silence and hushed wanderings,<br>And her who is the soul of my desire.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=536477" data-title="Love After Sorrow de Wilfrid Scawen Blunt" data-description="Behold, this hour I love, as in the glory of morn. I too, the accursèd one, whom griefs pursue Like phantoms through a land of deaths forlorn, Have felt my heart leap up with courage new. Behold, I love. The tragedy of hate's derision Has like a..."></div> </div> </div>

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