Why are your eyes like dry brown flower-pods, Still, gripped by the memory of lost petals? I feel that, if I touched them, They would crumble to falling brown dust, And you would stand with blindness revealed. Yet you would not shrink, for your life Has been long since memorized, And eyes would only melt out against its high walls. Besides, in the making of boxes Sprinkled with crude forget-me-nots, One is curiously blessed if one's eyes are dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CITY OF GOD by SAMUEL JOHNSON (1822-1882) EPISTLE TO DR. ARBUTHNOT by ALEXANDER POPE HOME THOUGHTS FROM EUROPE by HENRY VAN DYKE JANUARY FULL MOON, YPRES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN LINCOLN'S ASSASSINATION by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |