Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

VIRTUE by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE

Poet Analysis

First Line: HER BREAST IS COLD; HER HANDS HOW FAINT AND WAN!
Last Line: GRANT MY SON'S ASHES LIE WHERE THESE MEN ARE!
Her breast is cold; her hands how faint and wan!
And the deep wonder of her starry eyes
Seemingly lost in cloudless Paradise,
And all earth's sorrows out of memory gone.
Yet sings her clear voice unrelenting on
Of loveliest impossibilities;
Though echo only answer her with sighs
Of effort wasted and delights forgone.

Spent, baffled, 'wildered, hated and despised,
Her straggling warriors hasten to defeat;
By wounds distracted, and by night surprised,
Fall where death's darkness and oblivion meet:
Yet, yet: O breast how cold! O hope how far!
Grant my son's ashes lie where these men are!



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