I HELD his letter in my hand, And even while I read The lightning flashed across the land The word that he was dead. How strange it seemed! His living voice Was speaking from the page Those courteous phrases, tersely choice, Light-hearted, witty, sage. I wondered what it was that died! The man himself was here, His modesty, his scholar's pride, His soul serene and clear. These neither death nor time shall dim, Still this sad thing must be -- Henceforth I may not speak to him, Though he can speak to me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RUGBY CHAPEL by MATTHEW ARNOLD RAIN AFTER A VAUDEVILLE SHOW by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET LAUSANNE: IN GIBBON'S OLD GARDEN by THOMAS HARDY THE VAGABONDS by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE AN IMITATION OF SPENCER by WILLIAM BLAKE |