Classic Poem

WHEREIN HE RECEIVES TIDINGS OF LAURA'S DEATH

Alas! that liquid look, that lovely face!
Alas! the poised grace of that golden head!
Alas! the sweetness of the words she said
That soothed the savage breast, raised up the base!
Alas! the smile — that dart which I embrace,
Whose hope is death now that all hope is dead;
O hadst thou not so late inhabited
This earth, how queenly would have been thy place!
In thee I burn, in thee still draw my breath,
Being all thine. Death now has disciplined
All lesser pain to nothing; no sharp teeth
Can gnaw the constant grief-bright music dinned
By thy last words, snatched up by jealous Death
To vanish with their hope upon the wind.