Your pale Egyptian eyelids used to stir Faintly with laughter when I brought a jest. You were mysterious as a sepulchre To my young eyes; and that perhaps was best: For a dim secret, none too good to know, Must even then have had its dwelling-place In your still bosom. I could come and go Yet never read the silence of your face. Then on a day the spirit in that tomb Grew faint, and madness curtained up your eyes With film on film of desolated gloom Through which the soul I knew gave no replies -- Until that dawn of strange November rain When you lay dead, and were yourself again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FARRAGUT by WILLIAM TUCKEY MEREDITH YOUTH, DAY, OLD AGE AND NIGHT by WALT WHITMAN LE MARAIS DU CYNGE by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER GRAY MOOD by MARJORIE AKERMAN B. TO BESSIE HAWES, MAY QUEEN by ANNA EMILIA BAGSTAD TO A FRIEND: MR. BAKER IS WELL by THOMAS CHATTERTON THE MONASTERY OF MARIA EINSIEDELN by JAMES COCHRANE |