CRIMSON is the slow smolder of the cigar end I hold, Gray is the ash that stiffens and covers all silent the fire. (A great man I know is dead and while he lies in his coffin a gone flame I sit here in cumbering shadows and smoke and watch my thoughts come and go.) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUNG SAMMY'S FIRST WILD OATS by GEORGE SANTAYANA THE SEA-GRAVE by SARA TEASDALE RESIGNATION by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW (SEPTEMBER 25, 1857) by ROBERT TRAILL SPENCE LOWELL CA' THE YOWES TO THE KNOWES' by ISOBEL (ISABEL) PAGAN WHERE GO THE BOATS? by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |