Song Of Songs
SONG OF SONGS by WILFRED OWEN
Sing me at dawn but only with your laugh: Like sprightly Spring that laugheth into leaf; Like Love, that cannot flute for smiling at Life.
Sing to me only with your speech all day, As voluble leaflets do. Let viols die. The least word of your lips is melody.
Sing me at dusk, but only with your sigh; Like lifting seas it solaceth: breathe so, All voicelessly, the sense that no songs say.
Sing me at midnight with your murmurous heart; And let its moaning like a chord be heard Surging through you and sobbing unsubdued.
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|Author||Owen, Wilfred (1893-1918)|
|Title||Song Of Songs|
|Copyright||The Estate of Wilfred Owen. The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen edited by Jon Stallworthy first published by Chatto Windus, 1983. Preliminaries, introductory, editorial matter, manuscripts and fragments omitted.|
|First line||Sing me at dawn but only with your laugh:|
|Publication source||The Complete Poems and Fragments of Wilfred Owen|
|Publication editor||Stallworthy, Jon|
|Digital repository||The First World War Poetry Digital Archive|