O Sorrow, cruel fellowship, O Priestess in the vaults of Death, O sweet and bitter in a breath, What whispers from thy lying lip? 'The stars,' she whispers, 'blindly run; A web is woven across the sky; From out waste places comes a cry, And murmurs from the dying sun; 'And all the phantom, Nature, stands -- With all the music in her tone, A hollow echo of my own, -- A hollow form with empty hands.' And shall I take a thing so blind, Embrace her as my natural good; Or crush her, like a vice of blood, Upon the threshold of the mind? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WILLIAM AND HELEN by GOTTFRIED AUGUST BURGER AN EPITAPH ON M.H. by CHARLES COTTON JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY (FROM A WESTERNER'S POINT OF VIEW) by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR REBECCA'S HYMN, FR. IVANHOE by WALTER SCOTT TO A CHILD, THE DAUGHTER OF A FRIEND by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD IN MEMORIAM: A.F (OB. OCT. 12, 1879) by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |