Three friends of mine who know my heart, I have decreed your death to-day, And through what means, and by what art, Who but yourselves could ever say? I could not suffer you to part Flinging my secrets on your way. Who knows through what impetuous word My lore escapes your careless lips, Through what small syllable the bird That was my golden captive, slips And sings to those who, having heard, Will slay it with envenomed quips? That King of Knossos who would build A Labyrinth around his thought, Sagaciously and justly willed Death to the architects who wrought, And thus the winged word was stilled Which once set free is never caught. Friends whom I love, for fear I might Have cause to love you less, I stir Three melting forms of wax, and light Three tapers for three friends that were, Till three slim phantoms take their flight Between the whorls of smoking myrrh. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PSALM 8. MAN'S PLACE IN CREATION by OLD TESTAMENT BIBLE THE SOULS OF THE SLAIN by THOMAS HARDY THE RUNES ON WELAND'S SWORD by RUDYARD KIPLING THE FACTORY; 'TIS AN ACCURSED THING! by LETITIA ELIZABETH LANDON THE QUEEN FORGETS by GEORGE STERLING |