I sometimes wonder what my life doth mean Now you are gone; the long, bright days, the nights Of silence, the vicissitudes, the sights, The intrusive sounds, the dull, continuous scene -- It only minds me of the might-have-been, And in itself a taper is that lights Its own dark solitude: my spirit fights In vain to pierce the veil and look within. The fountain of my tears is sealed and dry; I do not grieve; my laughter is a jest; My prayers an arid bitterness; each sigh The heedless habit of a tired breast. My heart is dead; and when I come to die, Only to think of you no more were best. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VERSES ON SEEING THE SPEAKER ASLEEP IN HIS CHAIR by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED TOUJOURS AMOUR by EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN COME HOME by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. THE CELESTIAL COUNTRY by BERNARD OF CLUNY NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 16 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT THE SPIRIT IS TRUE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE THE FUNERAL OF ANTONIO GIANNO by STIRLING BOWEN |