Joseph Skipsey

The Secret

THE wind comes from the west to-night;
   So sweetly down the lane he bloweth
Upon my lips, with pure delight,
   From head to foot my body gloweth.
 
Where did the wind, the magic find
   To charm me thus? say, heart that knoweth!
‘Within a rose on which he blows
   Before upon thy lips he bloweth!’
Altre opere di Joseph Skipsey...



Alto