" 'Tis but a vague, invarious delight As gold that rains about some buried king. As the fine flakes, When tourists frolicking Stamp on his roof or in the glazing light Try photographs, wolf down their ale and cakes And start to inspect some further pyramid; As the fine dust, in the hid cell Beneath their transitory step and merriment, Drifts through the air, and the sarcophagus Gains yet another crust Of useless riches for the occupant, So I, the fires that lit once dreams Now over and spent, Lie dead within four walls And so now love Rains down and so enriches some stiff case, And strews a mind with precious metaphors, And so the space Of my still consciousness Is full of gilded snow, The which, no cat has eyes enough To see the brightness of." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOKEN AT A CASTLE GATE by DONALD (GRADY) DAVIDSON DOMESDAY BOOK: AT FAIRBANKS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EUGENIA TODD by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HILDRUP TUBBS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE LAKE BOATS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS QUI S'EXCUSE S'ACCUSE by MARIANNE MOORE SONG FOR THE FIRST OF THE MONTH by DOROTHY PARKER |