At Ease Poem by Walter de la Mare
At Ease
Most wounds can Time repair;
But some are mortal -- these:
For a broken heart there is no balm,
No cure for a heart at ease --
At ease, but cold as stone,
Though the intellect spin on,
And the feat and practiced face may show
Nought of the life that is gone;
But smiles, as by habit taught;
And sighs, as by custom led;
And the soul within is safe from damnation,
Since it is dead.
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8/7/2026 5:28:50 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
He writes as if we were, walking side by side.