From out the grave of one whose budding years Were cropt by death, when Rome was in her prime, I brought the phial of his kinsman's tears, There placed, as was the wont of ancient time; Round me, that night, in meads of asphodel, The souls of the early dead did come and go, Drawn by that flask of Grief, as by a spell, That long-imprison'd shower of human woe; As round Ulysses, for the draught of blood, The heroes thronged, those spirits flocked to me, Where, lonely, with that charm of tears, I stood; Two, most of all, my dreaming eyes did see; The young Marcellus, young, but great and good, And Tully's daughter, mourned so tenderly. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ETUDES DE PLUSIERS PAYSAGES DE L' AME: 1 by HAYDEN CARRUTH ON BEING ASKED TO WRITE A POEM AGAINST THE WAR IN VIETNAM by HAYDEN CARRUTH FLOWER GUIDANCE by ROBERT FROST DIVIDE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON HOMING BRAVES by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON A BANJO SONG by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON DAT GAL O' MINE by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON IMPRESSIONS OF FRANCOIS-MARIE AROUET (DE VOLTAIRE) by EZRA POUND |