The Fallen Poet

NOW that the soul has left its throne
  Behind your mortal eyes,
And light, and colour and sound are gone
  From the body's palaces :
Still in his wood the blackbird calls,
  But there is one too few to hear :
And one too few to watch the trout
  Swim through the music of the weir.

And once I dreamt that you were gone,
  As dust upon the wave ;
Or, as a dropp in some deep well,
  That none could sort or save.
But falling low between the stars,
  So soon as I had such a fear,
At dusk and dawn a whisper came :
  'The dead are near: the dead are near.

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"The Fallen Poet" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 15 Dec. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/19035/the-fallen-poet>.

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