Oh infinite delight when never more The white seas shine before us on the sand,— When at the touching of Death's calm sweet hand Colour forsakes the hills, and light the shore! Yes: then shall all life's weird wild pain be o'er. Nought shall arouse us from our perfect sleep: Not woman's touch,—nor woman's glances deep,— Nor ripples of the stream, nor ocean's roar. Whom woman cannot rouse is more than dead. Death's infinite peace shall fall upon each soon: Then in the timeless land where star nor moon Glitters,—nor rose of white nor rose of red,— And where no woman's figure thrills the air, We shall find rest from love,—and love's despair. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON TALK OF PEACE AT THIS TIME by ROBERT FROST MY BOY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE RING AND THE CASTLE by AMY LOWELL MIDDLE-AGED; A STUDY IN EMOTION by EZRA POUND A PROBLEM IN AESTHETICS by KAREN SWENSON THE SHANNON AND THE CHESAPEAKE [JUNE 1, 1813] by THOMAS TRACY BOUVE |