TWINE then the rays Round her soft Theban tissues! All will be as She says, When that dead past reissues. Matters not what nor where, Hark, to the moon's dim cluster! How was her heavy hair Lithe as a feather duster! Matters not when nor whence; Flittertigibbet! Sound makes the song, no sense, Thus I inhibit! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SEVEN AGAINST THEBES: CHORUS by AESCHYLUS HERITAGE by GWENDOLYN B. BENNETT IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 57. AL-HAMID by EDWIN ARNOLD ON THE DEATH OF A DAUGHTER by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |