Here you will find the Poem A Womans Sonnets: III of poet Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Where is the pride for which I once was blamed, My vanity which held its head so high? Who would believe them, seeing me thus tamed, Thus subject, here as at thy feet I lie, Pleading for love which now is all my life, Craving a word for memory's rage to keep, Asking a sign to still my inward strife, Petitioning a touch to soothe my sleep? Who would now guess them, as I kiss the ground On which the feet of him I love have trod, And bow before his voice whose least sweet sound Speaks louder to me than the voice of God; And knowing all the while that one dark day, Spite of my worship, thou wilt turn away?
