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 Thee,
Then was it I went faintly, for fear I had nearly found Thee,
O Hidden, O Perfect, O Desired! O first and final Fair!

About This Poem
"Borderlands" was originally published in Guiney's 1899 collection "The Martyr's Idyll, and Shorter Poems."

About Louise Imogen Guiney
Guiney, a poet, essayist, literary critic and biographer, was born in Boston in 1861. She published nearly 20 books of poetry and prose and was a renowned scholar of 17th century poetry. Guiney died in 1920.

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This poem is in the public domain.
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