Even she too dead! all languor on her brow, All mute humanity's last simpleness, -- And yet the roses in her cheeks unfallen! Can death haunt silence with a silver sound? Can death, that hushes all music to a close, Pluck one sweet wire scarce-audible that trembles As if a little child, called Purity, Sang heedlessly on of his dear Imogen? Surely if some young flowers of Spring were put Into the tender hollow of her heart, 'Twould faintly answer, trembling in their petals. Poise but a wild bird's feather, it will stir On lips that even in silence wear the badge Only of truth. Let but a cricket wake, And sing of home, and bid her lids unseal The unspeakable hospitality of her eyes. O childless soul -- call once her husband's name! And even if indeed from these green hills Of England, far, her spirit flits forlorn, Back to its youthful mansion it will turn, Back to the floods of sorrow these sweet locks Yet heavy bear in drops; and Night shall see, Unwearying as her stars, still Imogen, Pausing 'twixt death and life on one hushed word. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON LORD HOLLAND'S SEAT NEAR MARGATE, KENT by THOMAS GRAY MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 1 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI DOROTHY IN THE GARRET by JOHN TOWNSEND TROWBRIDGE ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 16. TO CALEB HARDINGE, M.D. by MARK AKENSIDE THE SOUL by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE MONEY DIGGERS by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD |