To E.T.
Robert Frost 1874 (San Francisco) – 1963 (Boston)
I slumbered with your poems on my breast
Spread open as I dropped them half-read through
Like dove wings on a figure on a tomb
To see, if in a dream they brought of you,
I might not have the chance I missed in life
Through some delay, and call you to your face
First soldier, and then poet, and then both,
Who died a soldier-poet of your race.
I meant, you meant, that nothing should remain
Unsaid between us, brother, and this remained--
And one thing more that was not then to say:
The Victory for what it lost and gained.
You went to meet the shell's embrace of fire
On Vimy Ridge; and when you fell that day
The war seemed over more for you than me,
But now for me than you--the other way.
How over, though, for even me who knew
The foe thrust back unsafe beyond the Rhine,
If I was not to speak of it to you
And see you pleased once more with words of mine?
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Submitted on May 13, 2011
Modified on April 03, 2023
- 52 sec read
- 203 Views
Quick analysis:
Scheme | XAXA XBXB XCDC XDXD AEAE |
---|---|
Closest metre | Iambic pentameter |
Characters | 851 |
Words | 175 |
Stanzas | 5 |
Stanza Lengths | 4, 4, 4, 4, 4 |
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"To E.T." Poetry.com. STANDS4 LLC, 2024. Web. 10 Jun 2024. <https://www.poetry.com/poem/30943/to-e.t.>.
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