Poem by Amy Levy

To a Dead Poet

I knew not if to laugh or weep;
They sat and talked of you--
”’Twas here he sat; ’twas this he said!
’Twas that he used to do. 

”Here is the book wherein he read,
The room wherein he dwelt;
And he” (they said) ”was such a man,
Such things he thought and felt.”

I sat and sat, I did not stir;
They talked and talked away.
I was as mute as any stone,
I had no word to say.

They talked and talked; like to a stone
My heart grew in my breast--
I, who had never seen your face
Perhaps I knew you best.

1. The First Extra
2. Translated from Geibel
3. In the Mile End Road
4. The Last Judgment
5. The Sick Man and the Nightingale

Print

1441 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version