THE fire is burning clear and blithely, Pleasantly whistles the winter wind; We are about thee, thy friends and kindred, On us all flickers the firelight kind; There thou sitt'st in thy wonted corner Lone and awful in thy darkened mind. There thou sitt'st; now and then thou moanest; Thou dost talk with what we cannot see, Lookest at us with an eye so doubtful, It doth put us very far from thee; There thou sittest; we would fain be nigh thee, But we know that it can never be. We can touch thee, still we are no nearer; Gather round thee, still thou art alone; The wide chasm of reason is between us; Thou confutest kindness with a moan; We can speak to thee, and thou canst answer, Like two prisoners through a wall of stone. Hardest heart would call it very awful When thou look'st at us and seest -- O, what? If we move away, thou sittest gazing With those vague eyes at the selfsame spot, And thou mutterest, thy hands thou wringest, Seeing something, -- us thou seest not. Strange it is that, in this open brightness, Thou shouldst sit in such a narrow cell; Strange it is that thou shouldst be so lonesome Where those are who love thee all so well; Not so much of thee is left among us As the hum outliving the hushed bell. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEDICATIONS AND INSCRIPTIONS: 6. GRUACH by GORDON BOTTOMLEY MIMNERMUS IN CHURCH by WILLIAM JOHNSON CORY WHEN ON THE MARGE OF EVENING by LOUISE IMOGEN GUINEY HIS GRANGE, OR PRIVATE WEALTH by ROBERT HERRICK A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 18 by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN ON SOME LINES OF LOPE DE VEGA by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1709-1784) |