 | The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich |  |
IMOGEN
LEONATUS POSTHUMUS speaks:Sorrow, make a verse for me
That shall breathe all human grieving;
Let it be love's exequy,
And the knell of all believing!
Let it such sweet pathos have
As a violet on a grave,
Or a dove's moan when his mate
Leaves the new nest desolate.
Sorrow, Sorrow, by this token,
Braid a wreath for Beauty's head. ...
376
Should be woven with the rue.
Sorrow, Sorrow, all is spoken—
She is dead!
| The poems of Thomas Bailey Aldrich | |