Yet it was plain she struggled, and that salt Of righteous feeling made her pitiful. Poor twisting worm, so queenly beautiful! Where came the cleft between us? whose the fault? My tears are on thee, that have rarely dropped As balm for any bitter wound of mine: My breast will open for thee at a sign! But, no: we are two reed-pipes, coarsely stopped: The God once filled them with his mellow breath; And they were music till he flung them down, Used! used! Hear now the discord-loving clown Puff his gross spirit in them, worse than death! I do not know myself without thee more: In this unholy battle I grow base: If the same soul be under the same face, Speak, and a taste of that old time restore! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...YOUR WORLD by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: JONAS KEENE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS IN 'DESIGNING A CLOAK TO CLOAK HIS DESIGNS' YOU WRESTED FROM OBLIVION by MARIANNE MOORE SONNET: 50 by GEORGE SANTAYANA TO BE CLOSELY WRITTEN ON A SMALL PIECE OF PAPER by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE BALLAD OF PROSE AND RHYME by HENRY AUSTIN DOBSON THE DEATH OF THE HIRED MAN by ROBERT FROST |