I TELL thee death were far more merciful Than such a blow. It is death to the heart; Death to its first affections, its sweet hopes; The young religion of its guileless faith. Henceforth the well is troubled at the spring; The waves run clear no longer; there is doubt To shut out happiness -- perpetual shade; Which, if the sunshine penetrate, 'tis dim, And broken ere it reach the stream below. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DYING WORDS OF STONEWALL JACKSON by SIDNEY LANIER WITHOUT AND WITHIN by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL AFTER DEATH by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI A CHRISTMAS CAROL by ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE FIRST CYCLE OF LOVE POEMS: 4 by GEORGE BARKER ON H---- THE PICK THANK by WILLIAM BLAKE |