I AM lovely as a dream of stone. Men sicken, Against my breast deep-bruiséd. I bring sore Travail of Love to poets, evermore Dumb as the Dust that no desire may quicken. Sphinx-like I am throned aloof; as plumes that thicken The breast of swans my chill heart's white at core; All rhythm-offending tumult I abhor Who am never with mirth elate nor sorrow-stricken. Poets before my noble poise and gesture That hath the pomp of all the world for vesture, Waste their sad days in study of dry reams; For I, to keep these loving suitors loyal Hold mirrors up, that make all beauty royal, In wide eyes brimming with immortal beams. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEAUTY THAT IS NEVER OLD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON ANOTHER SONG WITHOUT WORDS by PAUL VERLAINE GARRISON by AMOS BRONSON ALCOTT EPITHALAMION by EDMUND SPENSER PANEGYRIC by ABU BAKR MUHUMMAD PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 65. AL-WAJID by EDWIN ARNOLD GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 9 by RICHARD BARNFIELD IN VINCULIS; SONNETS WRITTEN IN AN IRISH PRISON: A DREAM OF GOOD by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |