The dark rock angered to be blown by the blast Will not be stilled either under pious hands Groping its resemblance to human woes As though in blessing of some dire mold. Here nearly always if the mourning dove coos This immaterial grief with many films of cloud Overcasts the morrows' mellowed star Destined in brilliance to besilver the crowd. Who, by pursuing his solitary bourne Presently external, seeks our vagabond -- Verlaine? He is hid amid the grass, Verlaine Only to discover naively in accord, Not crossing his lip or quenching his breath, A stream not very deep and calumniated death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: YEE BOW by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE NEGRO'S TRAGEDY by CLAUDE MCKAY THE WALKING MAN OF RODIN by CARL SANDBURG MOTHER EARTH by GEORGE SANTAYANA GOLD COAST CUSTOMS by EDITH SITWELL HENRY MOORE'S STATUE AT LINCOLN CENTER by KAREN SWENSON VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 9. VILLA SEBELLONI, BELLAGGIO by SARA TEASDALE |