All Last Night


    All last night I had quiet
            In a fragrant dream and warm:
    She became my Sabbath,
            And round my neck, her arm.

    I knew the warmth in my dreaming;
            The fragrance, I suppose,
    Was her hair about me,
            Or else she wore a rose.

    Her hair I think; for likest
            Woodruffe ’twas, when Spring
    Loitering down the wet woodways
            Treads it sauntering.

    No light, nor any speaking;
            Fragrant only and warm.
    Enough to know my lodging,
            The white Sabbath of her arm.

Lascelles Abercrombie

Add Comment

By poesiedumonde