There's Not A Fibre In My Trembling Frame [Sonnet]

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Title:     There's Not A Fibre In My Trembling Frame [Sonnet]
Author: Fanny Kemble [More Titles by Kemble]

There's not a fibre in my trembling frame
That does not vibrate when thy step draws near,
There's not a pulse that throbs not when I hear
Thy voice, thy breathing, nay, thy very name.
When thou art with me, every sense seems dull,
And all I am, or know, or feel, is thee;
My soul grows faint, my veins run liquid flame,
And my bewildered spirit seems to swim
In eddying whirls of passion, dizzily.
When thou art gone, there creeps into my heart
A cold and bitter consciousness of pain:
The light, the warmth of life, with thee depart,
And I sit dreaming o'er and o'er again
Thy greeting clasp, thy parting look, and tone;
And suddenly I wake--and am alone.

[The end]
Fanny Kemble's poem: There's Not A Fibre In My Trembling Frame [Sonnet]

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