For the Love of Words, Nature, and Spirituality
If Love Doth Speak
In the Sweetest Language Of its own,
‘Tis then in Honesty
That it speaks to me,
To my Heart,
With Tremors of Breath,
And Shudders of Pleased Delight;
Yet never let it Cease to Whisper,
Lest I be unable to Breathe
By its Loss.
.
~Morgan~
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.
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BooknVolume 
Gorgeous poem and I love the use of old English phrasing, it gives it such a classic feel. Well done Morgan.
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Thanks So very much Dom 😉 I do love “archaic” English, but try not to over use it. It just felt right here 🙂 So glad you agree.
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As there is shadow of every form, a re-echo of every sound, and a reflection of every light, the exists a re-impression of everything one sees, hears, or perceives. But as it takes a poet’s mind to grasp a wording, or a musician’s ears to sense the overtone of a sound, an artist’s eyes to recognise the form from its shadow,an d a keen sight toto distinguish the degree of reflection of light, so it takes a special soul to see through the things of life.
Could you recognise yourself, here?
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In the poem?
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No, being yourself; the poem just being a reflection of its author.
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Oh absolutely. I generally write about myself LOL 🙂 I know me best out of anyone else 😉
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Beautiful, as always.
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🙂 I Humbly Thank You 🙂
Blessings my Friend~
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Beautiful poetry Morgan!
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I do So Appreciate that, my Friend 🙂
Blessings ~
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