There are numb silences in tragedy When shrouded heads are bent into a wave Shrunk listless at the break; when dumb hands crave Our utmost gift of sorrow, silently Pleading for naught. Over the passive sea Hangs heavier weight of cloudless mystery. There is a well of silence in the grave; From this they draw, with this they gently lave Their worn and stricken souls. Let vengeance be The torment of the quick! Let prowling lust Consume the self-concerned! There is no fire To sparkle them to things that pass, no thrust To wake them from the stillness of their woe. They droop to form the pillars of the pyre And they are ashes when we turn to go. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NOTES FOR THE FIRST LINE OF A SPANISH POEM by JAMES GALVIN BRUTUS LIVES AGAIN IN BOOTH by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: IMANUEL EHRENHARDT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS ACCOMPLISHED FACTS by CARL SANDBURG SONNET: 48 by GEORGE SANTAYANA |