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Poem by Louise Imogen Guiney


Doves


Ah, if mans boast and mans advance be vain!
And yonder bells of Bow, loud-echoing home,
And the lone Tree, foreknow it, and the Dome,
That monstrous island of the middle main;
If each inheritor must sink again
Under his sires, as falleth where it clomb
Back on the gone wave the disheartened foam?
I crossed Cheapside, and this was in my brain.
What folly lies in forecasts and in fears!
Like a wide laughter sweet and opportune,
Wet from the fount, three hundred doves of Pauls
Shook their warm wings, drizzling the golden noon,
And in their rain-cloud vanished up the walls.
God keeps, I said, our little flock of years.



Louise Imogen Guiney


Louise Imogen Guiney's other poems:
  1. Writ in my Lord Clarendons History of the Rebellion
  2. A December Walk
  3. On the Pre-Reformation Churches about Oxford
  4. On the Same (continued)
  5. Emily Brontë


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