Linger now with me, thou Beauty,

On the sharp archaic shore.

Surely 'tis a wastrel's duty

And the gods could ask no more.

If thou lingerest when I linger,

If thou tread'st the stones I tread,

Thou wilt stay my spirit's hunger

And dispel the dreams I dread.



Come thou, love, my own, my only,

Through the battlements of Groan;

Lingering becomes so lonely

When one lingers on one's own.



I have lingered in the cloisters

Of the Northern Wing at night,

As the sky unclasped its oysters

On the midnight pearls of light;

For the long remorseless shadows

Chilled me with exquisite fear.

I have lingered in cold meadows

Through a month of rain, my dear.



Come, my Love, my sweet, my Only,

Through the parapets of Groan.

Lingering can be very lonely

When one lingers on one's own.



In dark alcoves I have lingered

Conscious of dead dynasties;

I have lingered in blue cellars

And in hollow trunks of trees.

Many a traveler through moonlight

Passing by a winding stair

Or a cold and crumbling archway

Has been shocked to see me there.



I have longed for thee, my Only,

Hark! the footsteps of the Groan!

Lingering is so very lonely

When one lingers all alone.



Will thou come with me, and linger?

And discourse with me of those

Secret things the mystic finger

Points to, but will not disclose?

When I'm all alone, my glory

Always fades, because I find

Being lonely drives the splendour

Of my vision from my mind.



Come, oh, come, my own! my Only!

Through the Gormenghast of Groan.

Lingering has become so lonely

As I linger all alone!