The Dead Poet Poem by Lord Alfred Douglas

The Dead Poet

Rating: 4.6

I dreamed of him last night, I saw his face
All radiant and unshadowed of distress,
And as of old, in music measureless,
I heard his golden voice and marked him trace
Under the common thing the hidden grace,
And conjure wonder out of emptiness,
Till mean things put on beauty like a dress
And all the world was an enchanted place.

And then methought outside a fast locked gate
I mourned the loss of unrecorded words,
Forgotten tales and mysteries half said,
Wonders that might have been articulate,
And voiceless thoughts like murdered singing birds.
And so I woke and knew that he was dead.

Frederick Kesner 08 March 2018

Moving poignancy, of belatedly well thought of and most probably missed personality.

1 0 Reply
Rajnish Manga 23 August 2017

This is a sincere tribute to a sensitive poet who creates the world of expression, music, beauty and grace. Thanks for sharing.

1 1 Reply
M Asim Nehal 21 December 2015

Heartfelt poem, nicely written...10

2 1 Reply
Shaikyu Yun 14 March 2010

I like it. I wonder who he wrote it for? Wilde.. nah...

4 2 Reply
Sarah Albany Parker 13 August 2009

This almost made me cry..... Why don't more people know about his poetry?

5 0 Reply
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