'Twas not enough, it seems. O House of Death, Of Madness, of Old Age, of Love-in-terror, White house whose fatal beauty flattereth! I thought 't had been enough -- and mine the error And mine the suffrance with each pulse and breath In the lone after-years! "A poet's House," Her voice memorial on the night wind saith. "Nun hoch der Dichter! -- bald ist alles aus!" Say I -- so toast me, friends. . . Am I, too, mad -- By slow infection of that pictured face? Or have I sucked the taint from Love's red lips, That thus I rant and ramble? -- (If I had, O only had! -- and found with her my place In that dim Valley of the moon's eclipse!) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUSEKEEPER by ROBERT FROST THE TRIUMPH OF LIFE by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY THE ROSE'S MESSAGE by MARY WINCHESTER ABBOTT OCTOBER FROM A BUS WINDOW by ELLA MCBRIDE BALLEW SONNET: MAN VERSUS ASCETIC. 5 by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON HINC LACHRIMAE; OR THE AUTHOR TO AURORA: 28 by WILLIAM BOSWORTH |