A foolish rhythm turns in my idle head As a wind-mill turns in the wind on an empty sky. Why is it when love, which men call deathless, is dead, That memory, men call fugitive, will not die? Is love not dead? yet I hear that turn if I lie Dreaming awake in the night on my lonely bed, And an old thought turns with the old tune in my head As a wind-mill turns in the wind on an empty sky. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AGAINST HOPE by ABRAHAM COWLEY FOR THE BAPTIST by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN IDYLLS OF THE KING: GARETH AND LYNETTE by ALFRED TENNYSON AT FLORENCE by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH ENIGMA. TO THE LADIES by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |