He is young. The father is dead. Outside, a cold November night, the mourners' cars are parked upon the lawn; beneath the porch light three brothers talk to three sons and shiver without knowing it. His mind's all black thickets and blood; he knows flesh slips quietly off the bone, he knows no last looks, that among the profusion of flowers the lid is closed to hide what no one could bear -- that metal rends the flesh, he knows beneath the white-pointed creatures, stars, that in the distant talk of brothers, the father is dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE IN THE WINDS by RICHARD HOVEY THE DAUGHTER OF MENDOZA by MIRABEAU BONAPARTE LAMAR ON THE DEATH OF A CAT by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI CLANCY OF THE MOUNTED POLICE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE THE LAND OF NOD by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON ECCLESIASTICAL SONNETS: PART 3: 34. MUTABILITY by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH OUR WEAKNESS by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 33. RED DAWN by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |