Classic Poem

WHEREIN HER DEATH ROBS LIFE OF ITS REASON

Whereas her angel aspect, so serene,
By this brief absence hurls my beggared soul
To dungeon horrors and the darkest hole,
I strive by words to ease a wound too keen.
Certes, true anguish (none hath truer been)
Prompts my wild speech: this she and Love control;
None other balm my sick heart can console
Against the terror of this desolate scene.
Death, thou hast seized her in a savage theft!
And thou, O happy Earth, that perfect face
Now cloakest from me in thy black embrace!
Why leave me here, so blind and so bereft,
Since she, in whom mine eyes found light and grace,
Departs, and only the throbbing night is left?