Through all the evening,
All the virginal long evening,
Down the blossomed aisle of April it is dread to walk alone;
For there the intangible is nigh, the lost is ever-during;
And who would suffer again beneath a too divine alluring,
Keen as the ancient drift of sleep on dying faces blown?
Yet in the valley,
At a turn of the orchard alley,
When a wild aroma touched me in the moist and moveless air,
Like breath indeed from out Thee, or as airy vesture round
Then was it I went faintly, for fear I had nearly found Thee,
O Hidden, O Perfect, O Desired! O first and final Fair!
This poem is in the public domain.
About this Poem
“Borderlands” was originally published in Guiney’s 1899 collection The Martyr’s Idyll, and Shorter Poems.
Louise Imogen Guiney
Guiney, a poet, essayist, literary critic, and biographer, was born in Boston, Massachusetts in 1861.
Date Published: 2014-08-03
Source URL: https://poets.org/poem/borderlands