HERE rests poor Stella's restless part: A riddle! but I loved her heart. Through life she rushed, a headlong wave, And never slept, but in her grave. Some wit, I think, and worth she had: No saint indeed, nor yet quite mad; But laughed, built castles, rhymed and sung, 'Was everything, but nothing long.' Some honest truths she would let fall; But much too wise to tell you all. From thought to thought incessant hurled, Her scheme was but -- to rule the world. At morn she won it with her eyes, At night, when beauty sickening sighs, Like the mad Macedonian cried, 'What, no more worlds, ye gods!' -- and died. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SEVEN TWILIGHTS: 5 by CONRAD AIKEN CONTRA MORTEM: THE WHEEL OF BEING I by HAYDEN CARRUTH A SUMMER'S GARDEN by ROBERT FROST TO MARY CHURCH TERRELL - LECTURER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE FRUIT GARDEN PATH by AMY LOWELL |