Yes, she was beauteous; if the Night By Michael's chisel wrought, A marble monument asleep, Can beautiful be thought. And she was good; if goodness be Devoid of heart and cold; If Love be shewn by alms alone; If Charity be gold. She thought; if words in dulcet tones, Significant of nought, Vague as the murmur of a stream, Deserve the name of thought. She prayed; if prayer it can be called, To fix two lustrous eyes Now, meekly downward on the earth, Now, upward on the skies. She smiled; if e'er the virgin bud, With heart unclosed as yet, Smiles to the zephyrs of the spring That pass it—and forget. She might have wept; if dews divine, That soften human clay, Could ever to her chilly breast Have found some secret way. She might have loved; but scorn and pride Kept watch about her heart, Like lamps that o'er a coffined form Their useless radiance dart. Now, she who only seemed to live But had no life, is dead, And from her hands the book has dropped In which she never read! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LA PALOMA IN LONDON by CLAUDE MCKAY LETTER TO MAXINE SULLIVAN by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE SACHEM OF THE CLOUDS (A THANKSGIVING LEGEND) by ROBERT FROST BRIGHTNESS AS A POIGNANT LIGHT by DAVID IGNATOW LET ME NOT LOSES MY DREAM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON VASHTI by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON |