Coup de Grace

Coup de Grace автор Walter de la Mare

Poems (1906)

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So Malice sharp'd his pen, and nibbled it,
And leered 'neath faltering eyelids at the flame
Of his calm candle till a notion came,
Coarse, acrid, with a distant hint of wit.
Once more he simmered, and once more he writ
Till not a dash was dull, a comma lame;
Then exquisitely failed to sign his name,
Leaving the world to trace a slug by its spit
Such was the barb, O Keats, (vain tongues would have),
Troubled in its calm flight thy lovely art;
Cankered thy youth, thy faith; abashed the brave,
Untarnishable sweetness of thy heart:
How should these dullards dream they winged the dart
That pierced thee, silent, in th' unanswering grave!

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