Here is a wound that never will heal, I know, Being wrought not of a dearness and a death But of a love turned ashes and the breath Gone out of beauty; never again will grow The grass on that scarred acre, though I sow Young seed there yearly and the sky bequeath Its friendly weathers down, far underneath Shall be such bitterness of an old woe. That April should be shattered by a gust, That August should be leveled by a rain, I can endure, and that the lifted dust Of man should settle to the earth again; But that a dream can die, will be a thrust Between my ribs forever of hot pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CLASS SONG (WHICH WILL BE SUNG ON THE 22ND OF FEBRUARY) by GEORGE SANTAYANA SPRING'S NEBRASKA by KAREN SWENSON THE SLAVE'S DREAM by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO SENECA LAKE by JAMES GATES PERCIVAL NEW PRINCE, NEW POMP by ROBERT SOUTHWELL THE RAJPOOT WIFE by EDWIN ARNOLD |