“Invocation” by Francis Brett Young


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: