In the eyes: dream. The brow as if it could feel something far off. Around the lips, a great freshness--seductive, though there is no smile. Under the rows of ornamental braid on the slim Imperial officer's uniform: the saber's basket-hilt. Both hands stay folded upon it, going nowhere, calm and now almost invisible, as if they were the first to grasp the distance and dissolve. And all the rest so curtained within itself, so cloudy, that I cannot understand this figure as it fades into the background--. Oh quickly disappearing photograph in my more slowly disappearing hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TRIUMPHS OF OWEN: A FRAGMENT by THOMAS GRAY EVENING CLOUDS by FRANCIS LEDWIDGE ANOTHER REAPER by WILLIAM H. ARMSTRONG III FULFILLMENT by CLARIBEL WEEKS AVERY DON'T YOU SEE? by KATHARINE LEE BATES THE CENTAUR'S FAREWELL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE WORK THAT SAVES by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR |