Skip to content
Linespedia

The Letter

Topics: classic

Edward Rowland Sill, Died February 27, 1887     I held his letter in my hand,     And even while I read     The lightning flashed across the land     The word that he was dead.     How strange it seemed! His living voice     Was speaking from the page     Those courteous phrases, tersely choice,     Light-hearted, witty, sage.     I wondered what it was that died!     The man himself was here,     His modesty, his scholar's pride,     His soul serene and clear.     These neither death nor time shall dim,     Still this sad thing must be--     Henceforth I may not speak to him,     Though he can speak to me!

AI analysis available. Enable JavaScript to interact.

About this line

"Edward Rowland Sill, Died February 27, 1887..."

"The Letter" is a quintessential example of Thomas Bailey Aldrich's signature style... ### Why We Love This Line At Linespedia, we believe that poetry is the ultimate sanctuary for the soul...

Classified Tags

Related lines

"[Midnight.]     First, two white arms that held him very close,     And ever closer as he drew him back     Reluctantly, the loose gold-colore"

""The Southern Transept, hardly known by any other name but Poet's Corner."     DEAN STANLEY.     Tread softly here; the sacredest of tombs"

"From yonder gilded minaret     Beside the steel-blue Neva set,     I faintly catch, from time to time,     The sweet, aerial midnight chime--"

"Listen, my masters!    I speak naught but truth.     From dawn to dawn they drifted on and on,     Not knowing whither nor to what dark end."

"Here morning in the ploughman's songs is met     Ere yet one footstep shows in all the sky,     And twilight in the east, a doubt as yet,     S"

"The Text is taken from Percy's Reliques (1765), vol. i. p. 71, 'given from two MS. copies, transmitted from Scotland.' Herd had a very similar bal"

Continue Reading

"[Midnight.]     First, two white arms that held h..."

Weekly Poetic Insight

Join our literary Sanctuary

Get the most inspiring lines, poetic analysis, and secret shayaris delivered to your inbox every Sunday.