@3Duchess: Who am I? Bosola: Thou art a box of worm-seed, at best but a salvatory of green mummy.@1 The stage is about to be swept of corpses. You have no more chance than an infusorian Lodged in a hollow molar of an eohippus. Come, now, no prattle of remergence with the @3ovrws ov@1 * * * As (the form requires the myth) A Greek girl stood once in the prytaneum Of Carneades, hearing mouthings of Probability, Then mindful of love dashed her brain on a megalith So you, O nameless Duchess who die young, Meet death somewhat lovingly And I am filled with a pity of beholding skulls. There was no pride like yours. Now considerations of the void coming after Not changed by the 'strict gesture' of your death Split the straight line of pessimism Into two infinities. It is moot whether there be divinities As I finish this play by Webster: The street-cars are still running however And the katharsis fades in the warm water of a yawn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BOUGH OF NONSENSE by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES THE OLD FAMILIAR FACES by CHARLES LAMB BEN JONSON ENTERTAINS A MAN FROM STRATFORD by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON PRAYER AFTER YOUTH by MAXWELL ANDERSON ENVOI: DEATH (1) by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) TOWARDS DEMOCRACY: PART 2. O SEA by EDWARD CARPENTER LAND O' PINES; OLD HOME WEEK IN MAINE by SAMUEL VALENTINE COLE |