I SOUGHT to build a deathless monument To my dead love. Therein I meant to place All precious things, and rare: as Nature blent All single sweetnesses in one sweet face. I could not build it worthy her mute merit, Nor worthy her white brows and holy eyes, Nor worthy of her perfect and pure spirit, Nor of my own immortal memories. But, as some rapt artificer of old, To enshrine the ashes of a virgin saint, Might scheme to work with ivory, and fine gold, And carven gems, and legended and quaint Seraphic heraldries; searching far lands, Orient and occident, for all things rare To consecrate the toil of reverent hands And make his labor, like her virtue fair; Knowing no beauty beautiful as she, And all his labor void, but to beguile A sacred sorrow; so I worked. Ah, see Here are the fragments of my shattered pile! I keep them, and the flowers that sprang between Their broken workmanship -- the flowers and weeds! Sleep soft among the violets, O my Queen, -- Lie calm among my ruined thoughts and deeds. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FLOWER OF FINAE by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS EPITAPH ON THE MONUMENT OF SIR WILLIAM DYER by KATHERINE DYER ROBERT BROWNING by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE FIRST DAY: ROBERT OF SICILY by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE LAURELS ARE FELLED by THEODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE |