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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
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Read poems about / on: loss, music, beauty, world, night, murder, dream
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Comments about this poem (The Dead Poet
by
Lord Alfred Douglas
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Lord Alfred Douglas
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Sarah Albany Parker
(8/13/2009 3:15:00 AM) |
This almost made me cry.....
Why don't more people know about his poetry?
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Lord Alfred Douglas
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