'Twas not enough, it seems. O House of Death, Of Madness, of Old Age, of Love-in-terror, White house whose fatal beauty flattereth! I thought 't had been enough -- and mine the error And mine the suffrance with each pulse and breath In the lone after-years! "A poet's House," Her voice memorial on the night wind saith. "Nun hoch der Dichter! -- bald ist alles aus!" Say I -- so toast me, friends. . . Am I, too, mad -- By slow infection of that pictured face? Or have I sucked the taint from Love's red lips, That thus I rant and ramble? -- (If I had, O only had! -- and found with her my place In that dim Valley of the moon's eclipse!) | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHADOWS: 2 by RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES EMIGRATION by LISA DOMINGUEZ ABRAHAM TIPPERARY: 4. BY OUR OWN A. E. HOUSMAN by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE CHIMNEY-SWEEPER'S COMPLAINT by MARY (CUMBERLAND) ALCOCK THE BOOK OF GOD by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF ADAMS AND JEFFERSON by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE VAGABOND GROWN OLD by AMELIA JOSEPHINE BURR LINES TO JULIA M --; SENT WITH A COPY OF THE AUTHOR'S POEMS by THOMAS CAMPBELL |