Her breast is cold; her hands how faint and wan! And the deep wonder of her starry eyes Seemingly lost in cloudless Paradise, And all earth's sorrows out of memory gone. Yet sings her clear voice unrelenting on Of loveliest impossibilities; Though echo only answer her with sighs Of effort wasted and delights forgone. Spent, baffled, 'wildered, hated and despised, Her straggling warriors hasten to defeat; By wounds distracted, and by night surprised, Fall where death's darkness and oblivion meet: Yet, yet: O breast how cold! O hope how far! Grant my son's ashes lie where these men are! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FROM THE ANTIQUE (1) by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ARCADIA: SESTINA by PHILIP SIDNEY THE LADY'S DRESSING ROOM by JONATHAN SWIFT THE BLUE BIRD by LAWRENCE ALMA-TADEMA THE ROSE I GREW by JULIA S. ANDERSON HONOUR'S MARTYR by EMILY JANE BRONTE FOUR SONGS BY WAY OF CHORUS TO A PLAY: 2. FEMININE HONOURS by THOMAS CAREW |