DEAD, is he? What's that further than a word, Hollow as is the armour of a ghost Whose chinks the moon he haunts doth penetrate. Belief in death is the fell superstition, That hath appalled mankind and chained it down, A slave unto the dismal mystery Which old opinion dreams beneath the tombstone, Dead is he, and the grave shall wrap him up? And this you see is he? And all is ended? Ay @3this@1 is cold, that was a glance of him Out of the depth of his immortal self; This utterance and token of his being His spirit hath let fall, and now is gone To fill up nature and complete her being. The form, that here is fallen, was the engine, Which drew a mighty stream of spiritual power Out of the world's own soul, and made it play In visible motion, as the lofty tower Leads down the animating fire of heaven To the world's use. That instrument is broken, And in another sphere the spirit works, Which did appropriate to human functions A portion of the ghostly element.— This then is all your Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ALMANACH DU PRINTEMPS VIVAROIS by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE LEAVES OF THE TREE HIDE THE SUN by DAVID IGNATOW THE OCTOROON by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO ATLANTA UNIVERSITY - ITS FOUNDERS AND TEACHERS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE QUARREL by KATHERINE MANSFIELD DOMEDAY BOOK: JOHN CAMPBELL AND CARL EATON by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |