Harriet Monroe (23 December 1860 – 26 September 1936 / Chicago, Illinois)
Look on the dead. Stately and pure he lies
Under the white sheet's marble folds. For him
The solemn bier, the scented chamber dim,
The sacred hush, the bowed heads of the wise,
The slow pomp, the majestical disguise
Of haughty death, the conjurer—even for him,
Poor trivial one, pale shadow on the rim,.
Whom life marked not, but death may not despise.
Now is he level with the great; no king
Enthroned and crowned more royal is, more sure
Of the world's reverence. Yesterday this thing
Was but a man, mortal and insecure;
Now chance and change their homage to him bring
And he is one with all things that endure.
Harriet Monroe's Other Poems
- A Farewell
- A Garden In The Desert
- A Letter From Peking
- A Letter To One Far Away
- A Little Old Maid
- A Play Festival In Ogden Park
- A Portrait
- A Power-Plant
- A Story
- Ære Perennius
- After Sunset
- April -- North Carolina
- At The Grand Cañon
- At The Ship’s Rail
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.