I am so weary with the burden old
Of foregone faults, and power of custom base,
That much I fear to perish from the ways,
And fall into my enemy's grim fold.
True, a high friend, to free me, not with gold,
Came, of ineffable and utmost grace--
Then straightway vanished from before my face,
So that in vain I strive him to behold.
But his voice yet comes echoing below:
O ye that labour, the way open lies!
Come unto me lest some one shut the gate!
--What heavenly grace--what love will--or what fate--
The pinions of a dove on me bestow
That I may rest, and from the earth arise?
Translations. - Part I. Sonnet Lix. (from Petrarch.)
George Macdonald
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Poem topics: fate, fear, friend, power, voice, earth, face, enemy, dove, true, gold, high, open, labour, perish, bestow, love, I love you, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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