This is the man who classified the bits Of his friends' hells into a pigeonhole - He hung each disparate anguish on the spits Parboiled and roasted in his own withering soul. God give him peace! He gave none other peace. His conversation glided on the brain Like a razor honing in promise of one's decease - Smooth like cold steel, yet feeling without pain; And as his art, disjected from his mind, Was utterly a tool, so it possessed him; A passionate devil, informed in humankind, It turned on him - he's dead. Shall we detest him? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CONVERGENCE OF THE TWAIN; LINES ON LOSS OF THE TITANIC by THOMAS HARDY THE UNPARDONABLE SIN by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY A LITTLE WHILE by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI THE INCHCAPE ROCK by ROBERT SOUTHEY THE RE-CURED LOVER EXULTETH IN HIS FREEDOM by THOMAS WYATT AN EVENING by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM IN UTRUMQUE PARATUS by MATTHEW ARNOLD |