The dark rock angered to be blown by the blast Will not be stilled either under pious hands Groping its resemblance to human woes As though in blessing of some dire mold. Here nearly always if the mourning dove coos This immaterial grief with many films of cloud Overcasts the morrows' mellowed star Destined in brilliance to besilver the crowd. Who, by pursuing his solitary bourne Presently external, seeks our vagabond -- Verlaine? He is hid amid the grass, Verlaine Only to discover naively in accord, Not crossing his lip or quenching his breath, A stream not very deep and calumniated death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CARGO MOVING TO GAZA (1988) by MARVIN BELL COMING DOWN TO THE DESERT AT LORDBURG, N.M. by HAYDEN CARRUTH CONTRA MORTEM: THE TREES by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE BIRDS DO THUS by ROBERT FROST EXPLICATION OF AN IMAGINARY TEXT by JAMES GALVIN MY HAPPINESS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |