He is there, somewhere . . . high up over the pass We must travel in air thinner than spirit, Bloodless, structure of cold fog. His rifle Gleams. He waits as we cross the ridge. Son, you will see him Sometimes: at the foot of the bed, grieving, A wavering presence in your fever-dream. Or seeming to grieve. Wearing the mask of your father. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A,B,C by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY MY YOUTH by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES AT CASTERBRIDGE FAIR: 4. THE MARKET-GIRL by THOMAS HARDY THE VISION (1) by ROBERT HERRICK IN THE TWILIGHT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL A DREAM WITHIN A DREAM by EDGAR ALLAN POE |