Her beauty was upon me. That alone Might well have tortured reason from its place: To look upon that living Titian face, And the fair Milo's form not now in stone, And pass . . . when, though but for a little space, In my young manhood they might be my own! To look . . . and pass. I looked . . . and could not pass. And unto pity for a human lot Came that great pity Beauty had begot (The old Vergilian truth) . . . My memory has, Strangely, half lost her beauty; but there be Some in the town, less close to her sweet ways, Who still remark how beautiful was she, As of some great event of other days. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...RETREAT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON PHILOMELA: PHILOMELA'S ODE [THAT SHE SANG IN HER ARBOR] by ROBERT GREENE DEWEY AT MANILA [MAY 1, 1898] by ROBERT UNDERWOOD JOHNSON SOJOURN IN THE WHALE by MARIANNE MOORE CHRIST IN FLANDERS by LUCY WHITMELL TO A HIGHLAND GIRL; AT INVERSNAID, UPON LOCH LOMOND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |