THE silent room, the heavy creeping shade, The dead that travel fast, the opening door, The murdered brother rising through the floor, The ghost's white fingers on thy shoulders laid, And then the lonely duel in the glade, The broken swords, the stifled scream, the gore, Thy grand revengeful eyes when all is o'er, -- These things are well enough, -- but thou wert made For more august creation! frenzied Lear Should at thy bidding wander on the heath With the shrill fool to mock him, Romeo For thee should lure his love, and desperate fear Pluck Richard's recreant dagger from its sheath -- Thou trumpet set for Shakespeare's lips to blow! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...OVERLOOKING THE RIVER STOUR by THOMAS HARDY ECHOES: 6 by WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY THE ILIAD: ACHILLES OVER THE TRENCH by HOMER MY PICTURE LEFT IN SCOTLAND by BEN JONSON DOCTOR FELL by MARCUS VALERIUS MARTIALIS |