HER name is at my tongue, whene'er I speak, Her shape's before my eyes where'er I stir; Both day and night, as if her ghost did walk, And not she me, but I had murder'd her. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 18 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ELEONORA; A PANEGYRICAL POEM by JOHN DRYDEN GERONTION by THOMAS STEARNS ELIOT SATIRES OF CIRCUMSTANCE: 9. AT THE ALTAR-RAIL by THOMAS HARDY BEREAVED by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY AUREOLA by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER QUATORZAINS: 11. A CLOCK STRIKING AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |