Physicians said the chance was very dim That she might ever see the face of him Who had grown dear by painting leaden skies In brilliant colors, lending her his eyes. Her fingers on his face were cool. The tips He kissed as they brushed lightly past his lips, Her fingers could not feel the cruel streak That zagged its fire-marked way across his cheek; And he who thought a broken spirit dies, Had found himself in her unseeing eyes. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WANTS OF MAN by JOHN QUINCY ADAMS DEJECTION by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES AN EPISTLE TO CURIO by MARK AKENSIDE IDENTITY by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PARLEYINGS WITH CERTAIN PEOPLE OF IMPORTANCE: CHRISTOPHER SMART by ROBERT BROWNING |