CRIMSON is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold, Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire. (A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LONGING FOR HEAVEN by ANNE BRADSTREET THE RESOLVE by ALEXANDER BROME ON THE MEMORABLE VICTORY OF PAUL JONES by PHILIP FRENEAU RIDDLE: A BLACKSMITH by MOTHER GOOSE LITTLE GIFFEN by FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR MANHATTAN ARMING by WALT WHITMAN |