Conscious of fine Concern is her movement And so proud and hard In its reaching pulse That now it would seem belittled By a lesser phase, A finish, an assurance. Now in tenderness she lies; Without her is cold blindness But she will seek again, Mildly sensing her reality That is not of the living But does not leave with those gone. The emptiness of wanting Creeps on her as time For smiling grows shorter. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MORTAL COMBAT by MARY ELIZABETH COLERIDGE THE BOOK [OF THE WORLD] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN PICTURES FROM APPLEDORE: 1 by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL OUR SOLDIERS' SANTIAGO SONG by DAVID GRAHAM ADEE RING FROM THE RIM OF THE GLASS, BOYS by JOHN CLINTON ANTHONY OUR PASSWORD by ISIDORE G. ASCHER THE CEREMONY OF THE PRINTER'S APPRENTICE; A GERMAN MORALITY PLAY by WILLAM BLADES |