Cambridge Poets 1900–1913

RICHARD BUXTON . SONNET. DEAREST, if the touch of common things Can taint our love or wither , let it die . The fre' est hearted lark that soars and sings Soon after dawn amid a dew - brushed sky Takes song from love and knows well where love lies , Hid in the grass ," the dear domestic nest , The secret , splendid , common paradise . The strangest joys are not the loveliest : Passion far - sought is dead when it is found , But love that 's born of intimate common things Cries with a voice of splendour , with a sound That over stranger feeling shakes and rings . The better love , the higher ecstasy Lie in the intimate touch of you and me . * SONG . M Y heart is like a meadow ! Where clouds go over , Dappling the mingled grass and clover With mingled sun and shadow , With light that will not stay And shade that sails away .