 | Poems |  |
SHE'S DEAD.
The sycamore shall hear its bees again—
The willow droop its green adown the sun;
But thou, O heart, shalt yearn for Spring in vain—
Thy Mays are done!
The willow droop its green adown the sun;
But thou, O heart, shalt yearn for Spring in vain—
Thy Mays are done!
Even from the graveyard elms, the rook shall caw
Of love; of love, the dove shall make its moan;
New Springs shall see the bliss my glad Springs saw—
I, grief alone.
Of love; of love, the dove shall make its moan;
New Springs shall see the bliss my glad Springs saw—
I, grief alone.
O heart! to whose sweet pulses danced the year,
The dirge above thy gladness hath been sung;
The faded hours, upon thy youth's sad bier,
Have grave-flowers flung!
The dirge above thy gladness hath been sung;
The faded hours, upon thy youth's sad bier,
Have grave-flowers flung!
She died—and with her died, O life, for thee,
The flush of love, and all hope's cloudless dreams!
Sunless—of mirth, henceforth, thou, heart, must see
But moonlight gleams.
The flush of love, and all hope's cloudless dreams!
Sunless—of mirth, henceforth, thou, heart, must see
But moonlight gleams.
479
O shrouded sweetness! Lo! those lips are white;
The roses of the year no more are red!
What is the silver lily to our sight?
Thou—thou art fled!
The roses of the year no more are red!
What is the silver lily to our sight?
Thou—thou art fled!
O life! O sadness! thou the deepening gloom
Of dying Autumn for thy skies would'st crave—
Would'st see all beauty, withering to the tomb,
Fade o'er her grave!
Of dying Autumn for thy skies would'st crave—
Would'st see all beauty, withering to the tomb,
Fade o'er her grave!
| Poems | |