Classic and Contemporary Poetry
ON FINDING A SMALL FLY CRUSHED IN A BOOK, by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER Poet's Biography First Line: Some hand, that never meant to do thee hurt Last Line: Yet leave no lustre on our page of death. Subject(s): Death; Flies; Dead, The | ||||||||
Some hand, that never meant to do thee hurt, Has crush'd thee here between these pages pent; But thou hast left thine own fair monument, Thy wings gleam out and tell me what thou wert: Oh! that the memories, which survive us here, Were half as lovely as these wings of thine! Pure relics of a blameless life, that shine Now thou art gone. Our doom is ever near: The peril is beside us day by day; The book will close upon us, it may be, Just as we lift ourselves to soar away Upon the summer-airs, But, unlike thee, The closing book may stop our vital breath, Yet leave no lustre on our page of death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A FRIEND KILLED IN THE WAR by ANTHONY HECHT FOR JAMES MERRILL: AN ADIEU by ANTHONY HECHT TARANTULA: OR THE DANCE OF DEATH by ANTHONY HECHT CHAMPS D?ÇÖHONNEUR by ERNEST HEMINGWAY NOTE TO REALITY by TONY HOAGLAND HER FIRST-BORN by CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER |
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