Whose peacock cry bereaves those myrtle groves? (One might unveil a murder, could one see The thing one doesn't hear again? Did love's Staccato knife strike forth such agony?) A running echo answers trembling, moves As though affrighted to record and be The instrument to bugle soft reproofs -- Then silence goes ahead more silently: Now stillness dwells among the shrivelled leaves, Folding itself round every thing that grieves; Not even ghosts can find their memories; Nor even knives, prolonged to war with peace, Pierce or resist the kingdom of the air, Or make a lash close over its long stare. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IN A BREATH; TO THE WILLIAMSON BROTHERS by CARL SANDBURG SALLY IN OUR ALLEY by HENRY CAREY (1687-1743) OLD AND YOUNG by FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON GOD'S HUMOR by GAMALIEL BRADFORD ANTINOMY by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE AN ANSWER TO A COPY OF VERSES SENT ME TO JERSEY by ABRAHAM COWLEY |