DO I know these, slack-shaped and wan, Whose substance, one time fresh and furrowless, Is now a rag drawn over a skeleton, As in El Greco's canvases? -- Whose cheeks have slipped down, lips become indrawn, And statures shrunk to dwarfishness? Do they know me, whose former mind Was like an open plain where no foot falls, But now is as a gallery portrait-lined, And scored with necrologic scrawls, Where feeble voices rise, once full-defined, From underground in curious calls? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RED JACKET by FITZ-GREENE HALLECK MY HAPPINESS by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS LILIES: 9. BENEATH LOFTIER STARS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 6 by RICHARD BARNFIELD FIVES'-COURT by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN MISERY: SORDID SCENE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |