My loves are over, other loves I sing My faith is dead, I tell of other faiths And bid mine incantation summon wraiths And water my parched spirit at their spring. What beauty could the seasons ever bring But the same light of mortal sorrow bathes? What breast but the same passion scars and scathes To bear the marks of|| much || emblazoning. Come, I will gather in mine empty house The ghosts of exiles, wanderers of yore, To tell their fortunes in a last carouse, And in their cups my life-blood I will pour That, drinking, they may utter their heart's vows, As once Achilles by the Stygian shore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOURNEY TO A KNOWN PLACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH A LITTLE WHILE by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR RECONCILIATION by GEORGE WILLIAM RUSSELL SOME EYES CONDEMN by PHILIP EDWARD THOMAS ASTRAEA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 41. TO THE 'UNKNOWABLE' GOD by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) PSALM 81 by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE DEAD EAGLE; WRITTEN AT ORAN by THOMAS CAMPBELL THE CONSPIRACY OF CHARLES, DUKE OF BYRON by GEORGE CHAPMAN (1559-1634) |