Here is a wound that never will heal, I know, Being wrought not of a dearness and a death But of a love turned ashes and the breath Gone out of beauty; never again will grow The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath Its friendly weathers down, far underneath Shall be such bitterness of an old woe. That April should be shattered by a gust, That August should be leveled by a rain, I can endure, and that the lifted dust Of man should settle to the earth again; But that a dream can die, will be a thrust Between my ribs forever of hot pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON DIGITAL EXTREMITIES by FRANK GELETT BURGESS LAMENT FOR FLODDEN [FIELD] by JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805) HYMN OF TRUST by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES AT A VACATION EXERCISE IN THE COLLEGE by JOHN MILTON PRESIDENT LINCOLN'S BURIAL HYMN by WALT WHITMAN THE BASE OF ALL METAPHYSICS by WALT WHITMAN THE GEATE A-VALLEN TO by WILLIAM BARNES A TRIBUTE TO WILL ROGERS AND WILEY POST by ROSETTA THORSON BEACHLER |