Poems (Taylor)/Dead
For works with similar titles, see Dead.
DEAD
I.
If I hearken at your grave
Will you speak?
Will the sudden crimson wave
Tint your cheek?
Will your pulse begin to beat,
And your lip to quiver, sweet,
With the dreamy silver phrase
Of our dreamy lover-days,
If I speak?
Will you speak?
Will the sudden crimson wave
Tint your cheek?
Will your pulse begin to beat,
And your lip to quiver, sweet,
With the dreamy silver phrase
Of our dreamy lover-days,
If I speak?
II.
For your passion would embalm
(So you said)
Lids and fingers carven calm,
Pale and dead.
Like a sacred orange-flower,
Pluckt one meditative hour,
You would wait, a pensive bride,
Till they brought me to your side,
—So you said.
(So you said)
Lids and fingers carven calm,
Pale and dead.
Like a sacred orange-flower,
Pluckt one meditative hour,
You would wait, a pensive bride,
Till they brought me to your side,
—So you said.
III.
But I dare not hearken so,
Queen of Rest!
Where the holy lilies grow
From your breast;—
For the silences immure
All your reveries death-pure,
While I sicken with the sin
Of the world I wander in,
Soul at rest!
Queen of Rest!
Where the holy lilies grow
From your breast;—
For the silences immure
All your reveries death-pure,
While I sicken with the sin
Of the world I wander in,
Soul at rest!
IV.
So I labour to forget
How the road
Wins through petals blue and wet
Your abode;—
How an agony supreme
Yet shall break your bridal dream,
When they bear my body stained
To your beauty unprofaned,
By that road.
How the road
Wins through petals blue and wet
Your abode;—
How an agony supreme
Yet shall break your bridal dream,
When they bear my body stained
To your beauty unprofaned,
By that road.