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Home  »  Poetry: A Magazine of Verse  »  Arthur Symons

Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

At the Three Fountains

Arthur Symons

HERE, where God lives among the trees,

Where birds and monks the whole day sing

His praises in a pleasant ease,

O heart, might we not find a home

Here, after all our wandering?

These gates are closèd, even on Rome.

Souls of the twilight wander here;

Here, in the garden of that death

Which was for love’s sake, need we fear

How sharp with bitter joy might be

Love’s lingering, last, longed-for breath,

Shut in upon eternity?