Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE PALLID WREATH, by WALT WHITMAN


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE PALLID WREATH, by                 Poet Analysis     Poet's Biography
First Line: Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is
Last Line: It is not yet dead to me, nor even pallid.


Somehow I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is,
Let it remain back there on its nail suspended,
With pink, blue, yellow, all blanch'd, and the white now
gray and ashy,
One wither'd rose put years ago for thee, dear friend;
But I do not forget thee. Hast thou then faded?
Is the odor exhaled? Are the colors, vitalities, dead?
No, while memories subtly play -- the past vivid as ever;
For but last night I woke, and in that spectral ring saw thee,
Thy smile, eyes, face, calm, silent, loving as ever;
So let the wreath hang still awhile within my eye-reach,
It is not yet dead to me, nor even pallid.





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