I went out to your grave, in the blowing wind after the rain; The flowers of red I had set there, were torn and strewn around; I was wild with thinking you sodden, frantic with pain; Morbid, and almost insane, @3and I dug in the ground@1. I dug in the ground, trying to reach some essence, Some clod of earth, that touched you, in the dark; Something to reassure me that your quintessence Still leaped to me, some mote, some little spark. Over your grave a wild, wet wind was blowing, And spicy acorns had fallen from your tall tree; And here, above, like the wind, Time's stream was flowing -- You, under the earth, were in timeless eternity. What is this haunting consciousness of you I carry? For you are closer dead! How can this be? You are as close as breath is to the body; You are as close as leaves are, to a tree. Death knows a silence that is more than silence -- I hear your atoms throbbing like a drum! There must be music, to this dissolution As lovely as the insects' evening hum. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH ETUDES DE PLUSIERS PAYSAGES DE L' AME: 1 by HAYDEN CARRUTH A DIM DOORWAY by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HILDRUP TUBBS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE CHARGE OF THE BREAD BRIGADE by EZRA POUND |