Worn Out

Thy strong arms are around me, love
My head is on thy breast;
Low words of comfort come from thee
Yet my soul has no rest.

For I am but a startled thing
Nor can I ever be
Aught save a bird whose broken wing
Must fly away from thee.

I cannot give to thee the love
I gave so long ago,
The love that turned and struck me down
Amid the blinding snow.

I can but give a failing heart
And weary eyes of pain,
A faded mouth that cannot smile
And may not laugh again.

Yet keep thine arms around me, love,
Until I fall to sleep;
Then leave me, saying no goodbye
Lest I might wake, and weep.

by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal

Other poems of SIDDAL (13)

Comments (4)

great fan of crowley
Nice poem!
A lengthy but interesting write. Was thrilled to find the mysticism he's so well known for interweaved throughout!
good one very nice fauous and finally AWESOME! ! ! ! ! !