The hopes that allured me To cope with the worst, At length have secured me The tortures accurst Of fever and grief, And frenzy — in brief Ills — ills from which Death is the only relief. But Titan-like lieth My soul in her chains; Hourly she sigheth. The answer she gains, But adds night and day To pain and dismay: 'Tis the scream of the vulture Despair at his prey. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ASOLANDO: NOW by ROBERT BROWNING TO DOCTOR EMPIRIC by BEN JONSON A VISION OF CONNAUGHT IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY by JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN NIGHTINGALE AND CUCKOO by ALFRED AUSTIN SHEMA-YISRAEL-ADONAI-ELOHENU ADONAI-ECHOD by NATHAN BERNSTEIN |