Now each new Warning died with its first voice, A phantom, a shrill echo, slain at birth Upon the threshold of the House of Mirth: For Warnings came, but yet there was no choice; No choice forevermore! New Warnings came; But came too late: Her dear sweet random ways Would more and more reveal their tragic phase (As of a candle with unsteady flame, Through fierce combustion of uncouth element) -- Proving that love itself, though it can put Light in the eyeball, swiftness in the foot, Cannot restring, within its choral tent, The mind 'twould play on (as a lyre or lute), When God has tampered with the instrument. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOW BAROMETER by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES LOST AND FOUND by GEORGE MACDONALD THE ROARING FROST by ALICE MEYNELL PORTRAIT OF A LADY by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS POETIC STUFF by MORRIS GILBERT BISHOP |