Saturday, September 6, 2008

A Birthday in Despair (1927)

O Beloved in all these fourteen years,
N'er did a birthday bring such bitter tears,
Without Thee or Thy poem from afar,
To heal my heart from wounds that leave their soar.

But now instead Thou sent Thy daughter fair,
At early morn, beneath my tangled hair
She lay a poem, as from Thee of yore,
A gift unearned, from Thy Jewels Four.

From this day on n'er could I conceive,
Of any birthday gift from friend receive,
For what is left to celebrate for me,
Since I am less than naught away from Thee?

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