PSYCHE has fouled both hands in blood and clay. Now, before speaking, let her wash and rest: A task so much against the grain oppressed Her life like poison; yet she, day by day, Toiled, lips and ears shut, and content they say Their pleasure who yet never gave their best. 'Tis done: let her gaze travel down the west As the light fades! O give her silence way! Thus may she fill the future with a voice True as the fabled harp that Orpheus tuned, That built a city, or made hearts so light Men with huge boulders wrought as Titans might. So, having first with awe and hope communed, Then turned to cleaner work, shall she rejoice. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HERETIC: 2. IRONY by LOUIS UNTERMEYER HIS MOTHER'S SERVICE TO OUR LADY by FRANCOIS VILLON THURSDAY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE ANGLER'S SONG by WILLIAM BASSE EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: THE BEGINNER by RUDYARD KIPLING THE GROVES OF BLARNEY by RICHARD ALFRED MILLIKIN THE RECONCILEMENT by JOHN SHEFFIELD |