I HELD his letter in my hand, And even while I read The lightning flashed across the land The word that he was dead. How strange it seemed! His living voice Was speaking from the page Those courteous phrases, tersely choice, Light-hearted, witty, sage. I wondered what it was that died! The man himself was here, His modesty, his scholar's pride, His soul serene and clear. These neither death nor time shall dim, Still this sad thing must be -- Henceforth I may not speak to him, Though he can speak to me! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LOON ON FORRESTER'S POND by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO ATLANTA UNIVERSITY - ITS FOUNDERS AND TEACHERS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO W.E.B. DUBOIS - SCHOLAR by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON APPLES OF HESPERIDES by AMY LOWELL ON CARPACCIO'S PICTURE: THE DREAM OF ST. URSALA; SONNET by AMY LOWELL |