HOW many now are dead to me That live to others yet! How many are alive to me Who crumble in their graves, nor see That sick'ning, sinking look which we Till dead can ne'er forget. Beyond the blue seas, far away, Most wretchedly alone, One died in prison --far away, Where stone on stone shut out the day, And never hope, or comfort's ray In his lone dungeon shone. Dead to the world, alive to me; Though months and years have passed, In a lone hour, his sigh to me Comes like the hum of some wild bee, And then his form and face I see As when I saw him last. And one with a bright lip, and cheek, And eye, is dead to me. How pale the bloom of his smooth cheek! His lip was cold -- it would not speak; His heart was dead, for it did not break; And his eye, for it did not see. Then for the living be the tomb, And for the dead the smile; Engrave oblivion on the tomb Of pulseless life and deadly bloom-- Dim is such glare: but bright the gloom Around the funeral pile. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TEARS IN SLEEP by LOUISE BOGAN UPON HIS DEPARTURE HENCE by ROBERT HERRICK THE SENSITIVE PLANT by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY EPITAPH by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU SONNET by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH SONNET: 11 by RICHARD BARNFIELD IN SLEEP by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE LAST STILE by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON SONNET (ON QUITTING SCHOOL FOR COLLEGE) by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE |