To A Dead Poet


Amy Levy

I knew not if to laugh or weep;

They sat and talked of you—

"'Twas here he sat; 'twas this he said!

'Twas that he used to do.

"Here is the book wherein he read,

The room wherein he dwelt;

And he" (they said) “was such a man,

Such things he thought and felt."

I sat and sat, I did not stir;

They talked and talked away.

I was as mute as any stone,

I had no word to say.

They talked and talked; like to a stone

My heart grew in my breast—

I, who had never seen your face

Perhaps I knew you best.

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