Dear Swinburne, how fell you if Death felled himself?
    Did the wind not last, had the running sun stumbled?
What knocks the stone from the clifftop shelf?
    What rocks the sea still since the high tide humbled?
If all that remains remains all that that dies
    And immortal soul lies forever relieved,
What am I left that your lyric decries
            But bereaved?

The same words grow from your garden grave
    Where the thorns of the wrought lead roses jingle,
But rocked by the roar of the wild wave
    The words disperse and forever mingle.
Time can unravel the thorns and the weeds
    And the wind and the sea and the sun and the rain,
Unravel Death and destroy his seeds
            And remain.

I pray that your song stands stable and true
    Through the covers I turn, on my lips when I sing
As the first day your meter upon the page drew
    And your rhyme first ascended on nimble a wing;
If not, let you molder with meadows of roses,
    As lovers are buried by solitary men,
Till I, upon every couplet that closes,
            Read again.

Shouldn't felled be failed?
» lyndeep on 2007-10-06 12:14:28

No, check out definitions 1a and 1b: fell.
» Bartholomew on 2007-10-06 07:01:37

I suppose your right. It still agitates me though. Sometimes using burly words to much is overwhelming and takes away from the writing to me.
» lyndeep on 2007-10-07 11:20:02

Fell is such a gentle word, though. Not burly at all.
» Bartholomew on 2007-10-07 12:50:15

"Felled"
It fits in nicely. I'm astounded by how moving this piece is. =)
» rowenabautista on 2007-10-10 02:17:57

"machine"
oh, you know what i mean, lol (at least i HOPE you know what i mean).
» rowenabautista on 2007-10-12 02:26:25

Sorry, you do not have permission to comment.

If you are a member, try logging in again or accessing this page here.