Your body was my temple Wherein the pitiful ghosts of the Somme and Arras Reclothed themselves in the warm pulsating vestments Of uncorrupted flesh; And the life, the life of the lovely dead re-awakened When my captive desire Turned aside to pursue the vagrant lure of your shadow. Your body was my sepulchre, Wherein the complacent whiteness of glory and honour Burned away to a heap of grey spendthrift ashes On the ultimate altar; But the ghosts of the War shall walk for ever By that grave of contentment Where ripen the bitter-sweet fruits in Gethsemane's garden. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MYSTERY OF PAIN by EMILY DICKINSON OUR LADY'S LULLABY by RICHARD ROWLANDS ON LOOKING INTO GOLDING'S OVID by STEVE SCAFIDI JR. THE SONG OF THE CAMP by BAYARD TAYLOR A NEW BIRTH by EDMUND JOHN ARMSTRONG |