A perfect love is nourished by despair. I am thy pupil in the school of pain; Mine eyes will not reproach thee for disdain, But thank thy rich disdain for being fair. Aye! the proud sorrow, the eternal prayer Thy beauty taught, what shall unteach again? Hid from my sight, thou livest in my brain; Fled from my bosom, thou abidest there. And though they buried thee, and called thee dead, And told me I should never see thee more, The violets that grew above thy head Would waft thy breath and tell thy sweetness o'er, And every rose thy scattered ashes bred Would to my sense thy loveliness restore. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO BAYARD TAYLOR by SIDNEY LANIER VICTORY IN DEFEAT by EDWIN MARKHAM CHILD MARGARET by CARL SANDBURG ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA ON AN UNFINISHED STATUE BY MICHAEL ANGELO by GEORGE SANTAYANA |