PSYCHE has fouled both hands in blood and clay. Now, before speaking, let her wash and rest: A task so much against the grain oppressed Her life like poison; yet she, day by day, Toiled, lips and ears shut, and content they say Their pleasure who yet never gave their best. 'Tis done: let her gaze travel down the west As the light fades! O give her silence way! Thus may she fill the future with a voice True as the fabled harp that Orpheus tuned, That built a city, or made hearts so light Men with huge boulders wrought as Titans might. So, having first with awe and hope communed, Then turned to cleaner work, shall she rejoice. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DISAPPOINTMENT by APHRA BEHN EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DEAD STATESMAN by RUDYARD KIPLING AUBADE [OR, A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN], FR. CYMBELINE by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE OUR WEAKNESS by JOHANNA AMBROSIUS TO A HAPPY WARRIOR by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT SONG BY JULIUS ANGORA by EMILY JANE BRONTE |