 Then the mortal coldness of the soul like death itself comes down ; It cannot feel for others' woes, it dare not dream its own ; That heavy chill has frozen o'er the fountain of our tears, And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice appears.  The woman of genius [by mrs. Ross]. - Page 197by mrs. Ross - 1821Full view - About this book
 | Bruce Haley - Literary Criticism - 2003 - 322 pages
...soul," wishing he could "weep as I could once have wept, o'er many a vanished scene," his words are "but as ivyleaves around the ruin'd turret wreath,/...wildly fresh without, but worn and grey beneath." Mourner and mourned, he becomes his own monument. FIGURE 9. Richard Westmacott. Monument to Robert... | |
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