Our story is noble and tragic As a tyrant's mask; No dangerous drama or magic; No detail unpoetic Makes our love-dream pathetic. And Thomas De Quincey drinking His opiate hippocras Of his poor Ann wandered thinking Let us pass, since all things pass I shall return at my ease. Memories are hunting horns Whose sound dies on the breeze. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MENAPHON: DORON'S JIG by ROBERT GREENE THE SONG OF THE MOUTH-ORGAN by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE A GOOD PLAY by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON FULLNESS OF THE BIBLE by H. J. BETTS DEDICATIONS AND INSCRIPTIONS: 8. BEAM-VERSES AT WELL KNOWE by GORDON BOTTOMLEY |