When the flaming lute-thronged angelic door is wide; When an immortal passion breathes in mortal clay; Our hearts endure the scourge, the plaited thorns, the way Crowded with bitter faces, the wounds in palm and side, The hyssop-heavy sponge, the flowers by Kidron stream; We will bend down and loosen our hair over you, That it may drop faint perfume, and be heavy with dew, Lilies of death-pale hope, roses of passionate dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: THE DOLL by EDITH SITWELL PRAYER OF THE LOST by ALETHEA TODD ALDERSON MY FLOWERS by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER THE ANCIENT THREE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE AMBITION AND GLORY by EDWARD GEORGE EARLE LYTTON BULWER-LYTTON AT ROMEO'S TOMB by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR |