THOU, who didst lay all other bosoms bare, Impenetrable shade didst round thee throw, And of the ready tears thou makest flow, Monarch of tears, thou hast not any share. Sad Petrarch, sadder Byron their despair Unlocked, their dismal theatres of woe Unclosed: thou showest Hamlet, Romeo, And maddened Lear, with tempest on his hair. Hadst thou no suffering men's tears could suage? No comedy of thine own life, shut in? No lurid tragedy -- perhaps of sin -- That walked with muffled steps its curtained stage? Confession troubles ne'er thy godlike look; Thou art, thyself, thy one unopened book. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT ON WHICH I DINED by WILLIAM COWPER AFTER THE LAST BREATH (J.H. 1813-1904) by THOMAS HARDY INSTRUCTIONS FOR A BALLET by MAXWELL BODENHEIM A SOLILOQUY ON READING THE 5TH AND 8TH VERSES OF THE 37TH PSALM by JOHN BYROM |