Your death, dear Lady, was quite cold For all the brave tears and ultimate spasm. So civilized were your thin hands, I marvel They too, like jellyfishes, came from protoplasm. O ineffable cheeks of rhododendron bloom, It cannot be you've withered so mortally! Your husband is heartbroken - he said so, Winking at his cocktail, talking dollars carefully. Dead Lady, it is revealed that you were twenty-six And died giving us an homunculus with bald head: May your black hair darken even the dark Styx, May your soul have no tears, forgetful of protoplasm. We buried you in the unremissive ground. I went home. Somewhere I heard the clang of a hearse. You are very far away, dear Lady - As I light this cigarette - and under an inscrutable curse. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SCHOLAR GIPSY by MATTHEW ARNOLD WAR IS KIND: 21 by STEPHEN CRANE THE STENOGRAPHERS by PATRICIA KATHLEEN PAGE THE REAR-GUARD by SIEGFRIED SASSOON SILVIO'S COMPLAINT: A SONG, TO A FINE SCOTCH TUNE by APHRA BEHN IN A ROSE GARDEN by JOHN BENNETT (1865-1956) THE ENTERED APPRENTICES' SONG by MATTHEW BIRKHEAD THE OLD HOUSE by GRACE DUFFIE BOYLAN ON THE DEATH OF SMET-SMET, THE HIPPOTAMUS-GODDESS by RUPERT BROOKE |