Conscious of fine Concern is her movement And so proud and hard In its reaching pulse That now it would seem belittled By a lesser phase, A finish, an assurance. Now in tenderness she lies; Without her is cold blindness But she will seek again, Mildly sensing her reality That is not of the living But does not leave with those gone. The emptiness of wanting Creeps on her as time For smiling grows shorter. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WISE WOMAN by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE WILD GAZELLE by GEORGE GORDON BYRON SUMMER DAYS by WATHEN MARK WILKS CALL DEATH STANDS ABOVE ME by WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR FRIENDSHIP'S MYSTERY, TO MY DEAREST LUCASIA by KATHERINE PHILIPS UNDERWOODS: BOOK 2: 6. THE SPAEWIFE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |