Explore "Dearth (Sonnets)" by James Whitcomb Riley on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I hold your trembling hand to-night -- and yet / I may not know what wealth of bliss is mine, / My heart is such a curious design / Of trust and jealousy! Your eyes are wet -- / So must I think they jewel some regret -- , / And lo, the loving arms that round me twine / Cling only as the tendrils of a vine / Whose fruit has long been gathered: I forget, / While crimson clusters of your kisses press / Their wine out on my lips, my royal fair / Of rapture, since blind fancy needs must guess / They once poured out their sweetness otherwhere, / With fuller flavoring of happiness / Than e'en your broken sobs may now declare.