718
I meant to find Her when I came—
Death—had the same design—
But the Success—was His—it seems—
And the Surrender—Mine—
I meant to tell Her how I longed
For just this single time—
But Death had told Her so the first—
And she had past, with Him—
To wander—now—is my Repose—
To rest—To rest would be
A privilege of Hurricane
To Memory—and Me.
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Comments2Wow, "A privilege of Hurricane to Memory—and Me" hits hard. Pretty deep stuff for homework.
This piece really touches on the tragic struggle between love and mortality. So captivating and poignant.