What power of will – to follow now, In this cold hour of fear, His studies in dead sticks and stones, With all this danger near! So here we stand with breathless looks, As figures made of stone; Till knowing that the poor thing's heart Beats faster than my own, I, creeping backward, silently, Am happy to be gone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FRAGMENTARY BLUE by ROBERT FROST THE QUESTION by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON MONDAY'S CHILD by MOTHER GOOSE THE HIGHER GOOD by THEODORE PARKER NOCTURNE IN A DESERTED BRICKYARD by CARL SANDBURG |