In the eyes: dream. The brow as if it could feel something far off. Around the lips, a great freshness--seductive, though there is no smile. Under the rows of ornamental braid on the slim Imperial officer's uniform: the saber's basket-hilt. Both hands stay folded upon it, going nowhere, calm and now almost invisible, as if they were the first to grasp the distance and dissolve. And all the rest so curtained within itself, so cloudy, that I cannot understand this figure as it fades into the background--. Oh quickly disappearing photograph in my more slowly disappearing hand. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON HIS DEPARTURE HENCE by ROBERT HERRICK VOICES OF THE NIGHT: PRELUDE by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW THE MOURNER A LA MODE by JOHN GODFREY SAXE EDINBURGH AFTER FLODDEN by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN LES HALLES D'YPRES by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN COUNT GISMOND by ROBERT BROWNING LINES, IMPROMPTU, TO Q SCULL, ON ITS IMMEDIATELY ABSORBING SOME WINE by JOHN CHALK CLARIS |