William and Emily

    There is something about
    Death Like love itself!
    If with some one with whom you have known passion
    And the glow of youthful love,
    You also, after years of life
    Together, feel the sinking of the fire
    And thus fade away together,
    Gradually, faintly, delicately,
    As it were in each other's arms,
    Passing from the familiar room -
    That is a power of unison between souls
    Like love itself!

Edgar Lee Masters

Edgar Lee Masters was an American poet, biographer, and dramatist. Born in Kansas and raised in Illinois, Masters is best known for his collection of poems entitled "Spoon River Anthology" (1915), which is a series of epitaphs of residents of the fictional small town of Spoon River. His works reflect the everyday lives and frustrations of middle America. Masters also practiced law and wrote biographies for historical figures such as Abraham Lincoln and Mark Twain.

Edgar Lee Masters

William Jones

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

The Question

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Dear Old Dick

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

Elijah Browning

Edgar Lee Masters, Simple Poetry

English

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Faith Matheny

    At first you will know not what they mean,
    And you may never know,
    And we may never tell you: -
    These sudden flashes in your soul,
    Like lambent lightning on snowy clouds
    At midnight when the moon is full.
    They come in solitude, or perhaps
    You sit with your friend, and all at once
    A silence falls on speech, and his eyes
    Without a flicker glow at you: -
    You two have seen the secret together,
    He sees it in you, and you in him.
    And there you sit thrilling lest the
    Mystery Stand before you and strike you dead
    With a splendor like the sun's.
    Be brave, all souls who have such visions
    As your body's alive as mine is dead,
    You're catching a little whiff of the ether
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Portrait Of A Woman

    The pathos in your face is like a peace,
    It is like resignation or a grace
    Which smiles at the surcease
    Of hope. But there is in your face
    The shadow of pain, and there is a trace
    Of memory of pain.

    I look at you again and again,
    And hide my looks lest your quick eye perceives
    My search for your despair.
    I look at your pale hands, I look at your hair;
    And I watch you use your hands, I watch the flare
    Of thought in your eyes like light that interweaves
    A flutter of color running under leaves,
    Such anguished dreams in your eyes!
    And I listen to you speak
    Words like crystals breaking with a tinkle,
    Or a star's twinkle.
    Sometimes as we talk you rise
    And leave the room, and ...

Edgar Lee Masters

Mary McNeely

    Passer-By,
    To love is to find your own soul
    Through the soul of the beloved one.
    When the beloved one withdraws itself from your soul
    Then you have lost your soul.
    It is written: "l have a friend,
    But my sorrow has no friend."
    Hence my long years of solitude at the home of my father,
    Trying to get myself back,
    And to turn my sorrow into a supremer self.
    But there was my father with his sorrows,
    Sitting under the cedar tree,
    A picture that sank into my heart at last
    Bringing infinite repose.
    Oh, ye souls who have made life
    Fragrant and white as tube roses
    From earth's dark soil,
    Eternal peace!

Edgar Lee Masters

The Letter

What does one gain by living? What by dying
Is lost worth having? What the daily things
Lived through together make them worth the while
For their sakes or for life's? Where's the denying
Of souls through separation? There's your smile!
And your hands' touch! And the long day that brings
Half uttered nothings of delight! But then
Now that I see you not, and shall again
Touch you no more - memory can possess
Your soul's essential self, and none the less
You live with me. I therefore write to you
This letter just as if you were away
Upon a journey, or a holiday;
And so I'll put down everything that's new
In this secluded village, since you left. ...
Now let me think! Well, then, as I remember,
After ten days the lilacs burst in bloom.
We had spring all at o...

Edgar Lee Masters

La Mort D'Amour.

When was it that love died? We were so fond,
    So very fond, a little while ago.
    With leaping pulses, and blood all aglow,
We dreamed about a sweeter life beyond,

When we should dwell together as one heart,
    And scarce could wait that happy time to come.
    Now side by side we sit with lips quite dumb,
And feel ourselves a thousand miles apart.

How was it that love died! I do not know.
    I only know that all its grace untold
    Has faded into gray! I miss the gold
From our dull skies; but did not see it go.

Why should love die? We prized it, I am sure;
    We thought of nothing else when it was ours;
    We cherished it in smiling, sunlit bowers;
It was our all; why could it not endure?

Alas, we know not how, or when or why...

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

November 1836

Even so for me a Vision sanctified
The sway of Death; long ere mine eyes had seen
Thy countenance, the still rapture of thy mien
When thou, dear Sister! wert become Death's Bride:
No trace of pain or languor could abide
That change: age on thy brow was smoothed thy cold
Wan cheek at once was privileged to unfold
A loveliness to living youth denied.
Oh! if within me hope should e'er decline,
The lamp of faith, lost Friend! too faintly burn;
Then may that heaven-revealing smile of thine,
The bright assurance, visibly return:
And let my spirit in that power divine
Rejoice, as, through that power, it ceased to mourn.

William Wordsworth