THIS living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou would[st] wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calm'd--see here it is-- I hold it towards you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH JOURNEY TO A KNOWN PLACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH ARMOR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ON A TUFT OF GRASS by EMMA LAZARUS DISMAL MOMENT PASSING by CLARENCE MAJOR |