IS it the martins or katydids? -- Early morning or late at night? A dream, belike, kneeling down on the lids Of a dying man's eyesight. . . . . . . Over and over I heard the rain -- Over and over I waked to see The blaze of the lamp as again and again Its stare insulted me. . . . . . . It is not the click of the clock I hear -- It is the @3pulse@1 of the clock, -- and lo! How it throbs and throbs on the quickened ear Of the dead man listening so! come;" But, being dead, I knew -- I knew! . . . Some hearts they love us alive, and some They love us dead -- they do! And @3I@1 am dead -- and I joy to be, -- For here are my folded hands, so cold, And yet blood-warm with the roses she Has given me to hold. Dead -- yea, dead! -- But I hear the beat Of her heart, as her warm lips touch my brow -- And O how sweet -- how @3blinding@1 sweet To know that she loves me @3now!@1 | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GETTING A WORD IN by JAMES GALVIN A PHONECALL FROM FRANK O'HARA by ANNE WALDMAN ON MY THIRTY-THIRD BIRTHDAY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON PARADISE by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER DEAD COW FARM by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES A RENOUNCING OF LOVE by THOMAS WYATT |