Explore Poems GO!

Tomb (Of Verlaine)

Anniversary – January 1897

The black rock enraged that the north wind rolls it on
Will not stop itself, nor, under pious hands, still
Cease testing its resemblance to human ill
As if to bless some fatal cast of bronze.

Here nearly always if the ring-dove coos
This immaterial grief with many a fold of cloud
Crushes the ripe star of tomorrows, whose crowd

Will be silvered by its scintillations. Who
Read More

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM