AROUND the vase of Life at your slow pace He has not crept, but turned it with his hands, And all its sides already understands. There, girt, one breathes alert for some great race; Whose road runs far by sands and fruitful space; Who laughs, yet through the jolly throng has pass'd; Who weeps, nor stays for weeping; who at last, A youth, stands somewhere crowned, with silent face. And he has filled this vase with wine for blood, With blood for tears, with spice for burning vow, With watered flowers for buried love most fit; And would have cast it shattered to the flood, Yet in Fate's name has kept it whole; which now Stands empty till his ashes fall in it. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BLIND by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE HAPPIEST HEART by JOHN VANCE CHENEY SPOILS OF THE DEAD by ROBERT FROST THE BURIED LIFE by MATTHEW ARNOLD LINES ON THE COTTAGE AT THE FOOT OF BOX HILL, SURREY by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD THERE WAS A GARDEN by MARIE BARTON |