IN THIS new shade of Death, the show Passes me still of form and face; Some bent, some gazing as they go, Some swiftly, some at a dull pace, Not one that speaks in any case. If only one might speak!--the one Who never waits till I come near; But always seated all alone As listening to the sunken air, Is gone before I come to her. O dearest! while we lived and died A living death in every day, Some hours we still were side by side, When where I was you too might stay And rest and need not go away. O nearest, furthest! Can there be At length some hard-earned heart-won home, Where,--exile changed for sanctuary,-- Our lot may fill indeed its sum, And you may wait and I may come? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OUR LADY by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE AN ENGLISH MOTHER by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON JOY OF THE MORNING by EDWIN MARKHAM THE WASTE PLACES by JAMES STEPHENS O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! by WALT WHITMAN THEOCRITUS; A VILLANELLE by OSCAR WILDE |