To-day the very dead would love his face; And, loving them, I wish that to their place Of woe his feet might find awhile the way, And ease them with perfection for a space. His beauty is so beautiful to-day. As, when its freight of dew is blown away, The grass uprises, so would they uprise, Those ancient dead, and shake their anguish grey, Breathing his coolness and his glad surprise As 'twere the blow and glittering of day. Ashine with clinging petals and late tears, Sweet with aroma of Sicilian green, I see the dear, dear dead make way and lean To catch the summer of his mouth, the sheen Of laughter in those eyes that wisdom fears. And, ah! Persephone! She hath forgot The pallor and the poppied heaviness -- Upon her wine-red heart her hand is hot. If thus the very dead, 'twere sure excess Of blame, were I to love his beauty less! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG OF THE SINNER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE SOCIOLOGY OF TOYOTAS AND JADE CHRYSANTHEMUMS by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE LITANY OF THE DARK PEOPLE by COUNTEE CULLEN IT JUST SO HAPPENS by JAMES GALVIN CALLING DREAMS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON PROMISE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON |