English poetry

Poems in English


Exile

My hands have not touched pleasure since your hands,
No, nor my lips freed laughter since ‘farewell’,
And with the day, distance again expands
Voiceless between us, as an uncoiled shell.

Yet, love endures, though starving and alone.
A dove’s wings clung about my heart each night
With surging gentleness, and the blue stone
Set in the tryst-ring has but worn more bright.


1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (2 votes, average: 4.00 out of 5)

Poem Exile - Hart Crane