Here lies a frigid man whom men deplore, A presence concentrated in a frame, A full-length portrait of the flesh of yore, A still-life study of a death aflame, White, unresistant, intimate and free, The eyes a secret, hands as cold as stars, A man who lies with his biography, A dreaming book whose wounds have dried to scars: There flies a thrilling soul men cultivate, A ghostly eagle solving mysteries, His darkest faults, graces they emulate, Wings redolent of suns and eyes of seas: For they who shrank from his mad human ache Call him high Shelley now and praise his wake. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TEMPTRESS by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON EARTH IS ENOUGH by EDWIN MARKHAM THE PICKET-GUARD [NOVEMBER, 1861] by ETHEL LYNN BEERS THE MASK by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A CRADLE SONG by PADRAIC COLUM ANOTHER GRACE FOR A CHILD by ROBERT HERRICK |