Digby Mackworth Dolben

Enough

When all my words were said,
 When all my songs were sung,
 I thought to pass among
The unforgotten dead,

A Queen of ruth to reign
 With her, who gathereth tears
 From all the lands and years,
The Lesbian maid of pain;

That lovers, when they wove
 The double myrtle-wreath,
 Should sigh with mingled breath
Beneath the wings of Love:

'How piteous were her wrongs,
 Her words were falling dew,
 All pleasant verse she knew,
But not the Song of songs.'

Yet now, O Love, that you
 Have kissed my forehead, I
 Have sung indeed, can die,
And be forgotten too.