11 September 2008

The Dead Poet

I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face
All radiant and unshadowed of distress,
And as of old, in music measureless,
I heard his golden voice and marked him trace
Under the common thing the hidden grace,
And conjure wonder out of emptiness,
Till mean things put on beauty like a dress
And all the world was an enchanted place.

And then methought outside a fast locked gate
I mourned the loss of unrecorded words,
Forgotten tales and mysteries half said,
Wonders that might have been articulate,
And voiceless thoughts like murdered singing birds.
And so I woke and knew that he was dead.

Lord Alfred Douglas (Bosie)

Kommentare:

Feona Malea hat gesagt…

Me - LOVE!

Ashmodai hat gesagt…

Me, too!
Eigentlich ist es schrecklich und wahnsinnig traurig - aber tooooll!