Whither, O, my sweet mistress, must I follow thee?
For when I hear thy distant footfall nearing,
And wait on thy appearing,
Lo ! my lips are silent : no words come to me.
Once I waylaid thee in green forest covers,
Hoping that spring might free my lips with gentle
Alas ! her presence lingers fingers ;
No longer than on the plain the shadow of brown kestrel
[ . . . ]
Francis Brett Young's poem "Invocation" was published in Georgian Poetry, 1918-1919. To read this poem in full in a digitized version of this publication, follow the link below: