The Exile

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Title:     The Exile
Author: Laurence Alma-Tadema [More Titles by Alma-Tadema]

You too mistook me; for no man is wise
Whom Love enclouds. Nor soul-piercing nor keen
Your vision, else there never would have been
A cause for parting. Love-enwrapped, your eyes
Failed in my love Love's self to recognise:
You saw its outer garment, where the green
Of perfect faith was marred by passion's sheen,
By outworn patience and desire's disguise.
Had you but read me to the inner soul,
You would have held me fast. I can forego
All that is sought of hand and lip, the whole
Of Love's poor joy. But I have need to know
That, when the heart fails, I may come and rest
My head upon your wide and sheltering breast.

[The end]
Laurence Alma-Tadema's poem: Exile

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