First World War Poetry Digital Archive

To The Bitter Sweet-Heart: A Dream

TO THE BITTER SWEET-HEART: A DREAM by WILFRED OWEN

One evening Eros took me by the hand, And having folded feathers round my head, Or sleep like feathers, towards a far hope sped, I groping, for he bade me understand He would soon fill with Yours my other hand--- But when I heard his singing wings expand My face fell deeply in his shoulder. Sweet moons we flew thus, yet I waned not older But in his exquisiteness I flagged, unmanned Till, when his wings were drooping to an end Feeling my empty hand fulfilled with His, I knew Love gave himself my passion-friend. So my old quest of you requited is, Ampler than e'er I asked of your girl's grace. I shall not ask you more, nor see your face.

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