By chance my fingers, resting on my face, Stayed suddenly where in its orbit shone The lamp of all things beautiful; then on, Following more heedfully, did softly trace Each arch and prominence and hollow place That shall revealed be when all else is gone -- Warmth, colour, roundness -- to oblivion, And nothing left but darkness and disgrace. Life like a moment passed seemed then to be; A transient dream this raiment that it wore; While spelled my hand out its mortality, Made certain all that had seemed doubt before: Proved -- O how vaguely, yet how lucidly! -- How much death does: and yet can do no more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUDMOUTH DEARS by THOMAS HARDY THE MAN HE KILLED by THOMAS HARDY LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS IN GREMIO by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN SECOND BOOK OF AIRS: SONG 10 by THOMAS CAMPION |