THIS living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou would[st] wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calm'd--see here it is-- I hold it towards you. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TWO POEMS FROM THE WAR: 2 by ARCHIBALD MACLEISH DOMESDAY BOOK: BARRETT BAYS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE STIRRUP-CUP by LOUIS UNTERMEYER SONNET: DEATH-WARNINGS by FRANCISCO GOMEZ DE QUEVEDO Y VILLEGAS ON A GRAVE IN CHRIST-CHURCH, HANTS by OSCAR FAY ADAMS THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 40. FAREWELL TO JULIET (2) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |