It binds my spirit like a spell, Relief hath time denied; The world is empty as a shell Since gentle Edith died. When fancy paints her saintly grace My heart to reconcile, It only counterfeits her face And simulates her smile. When memory recalls her voice, Her laughter's melody, It brings not back the tender joys That have forsaken me. Small consolation hath the thought That others grief have known; Though pain in every heart is brought It lessens not my own. But when with one of old I cry, "Was ever grief like mine?" It stills my passion to reply That sorrow is divine; That One who took my nature bears, Although in heaven the chief; His human crown of sorrow wears, And fathoms every grief; And that his sympathy's embrace, Wide as eternity For those who look upon His face, Is not withheld from me. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LINES FROM A PLUTOCRATIC POETASTER TO A DITCH-DIGGER by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS IN EQUAL SACRIFICE by ROBERT FROST A DISCRETE LOVE POEM by JAMES GALVIN SEPARATION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE AUDACIOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DEEP IN THE QUIET WOOD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON NOBODY'S LOOKIN' BUT DE OWL AND DE MOON (A NEGRO SERENADE) by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |