IN mine own monument I lie, And in myself am buried; Sure the quick lightning of her eye Melted my soul i' th' scabbard dead; And now like some pale ghost I walk, And with another's spirit talk. Nor can her beams a heat convey That may my frozen bosom warm, Unless her smiles have pow'r, as they That a cross charm can countercharm; But this is such a pleasing pain, I'm loth to be alive again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DEAD PAN by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING LEINSTER by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY OLD POETS by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER THE RUNES ON WELAND'S SWORD by RUDYARD KIPLING THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 100 by OMAR KHAYYAM UNDER THE SHADE OF THE TREES [MAY 10, 1863] by MARGARET JUNKIN PRESTON |