VIII. ‘The rising deluges of circumstance’, by Robert Hillyer

Robert Hillyer

VIII. ‘The rising deluges of circumstance’

The rising deluges of circumstance

Have flooded all the gardens of my dreams,

No more the inner sun of gladness gleams

Upon pale flowers of a lover’s trance.

Dear Love, I know not why this torrent seems

To drown in turbid billowings of chance

The blossoms of thy visioned countenance,

Soiling my richest thoughts with earthy streams.

The river of the world is ever strong,

I would that I could leave this doubtful shore,

And yet I linger, hoping that ere long

The swirling tide will crush my dreams no more.

And if my gardens ever bloom again,

How fair will be thy perfect blossom then!

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Robert Hillyer