O Sorrow, cruel fellowship, O Priestess in the vaults of Death, O sweet and bitter in a breath, What whispers from thy lying lip? 'The stars,' she whispers, 'blindly run; A web is woven across the sky; From out waste places comes a cry, And murmurs from the dying sun; 'And all the phantom, Nature, stands -- With all the music in her tone, A hollow echo of my own, -- A hollow form with empty hands.' And shall I take a thing so blind, Embrace her as my natural good; Or crush her, like a vice of blood, Upon the threshold of the mind? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BRIDGE: PROEM. TO BROOKLYN BRIDGE by HAROLD HART CRANE LOVE'S CAUTION by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES THE SOUND OF THE TREES by ROBERT FROST ELIOT'S OAK; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE AEOLIAN HARP; AT THE SURF INN by HERMAN MELVILLE RIFLEMAN FORM! by ALFRED TENNYSON BARCLAY OF URY by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF P. BURGESS; A CHILD OF SUPERIOR ENDOWMENTS by BERNARD BARTON |