 | Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne |  |
THE WOODLAND GRAVE.
We roam, my love and I.
'Mid the rich woodland grasses,
Where, through dense clouds of greenery,
The softened sunshine passes;
But near a rivulet's lonely wave
We come half startled, on—a grave!
'Mid the rich woodland grasses,
Where, through dense clouds of greenery,
The softened sunshine passes;
But near a rivulet's lonely wave
We come half startled, on—a grave!
We pause, my love and I,
Each thinking, “Who reposes
Here, in the forest tranquilly,
Beneath these sylvan roses?”
When, 'twixt the wild flowers' tangled flame,
Wind-parted, we beheld—a name.
Each thinking, “Who reposes
Here, in the forest tranquilly,
Beneath these sylvan roses?”
When, 'twixt the wild flowers' tangled flame,
Wind-parted, we beheld—a name.
We mark, my love and I,
With thoughts that swiftly vary,
Of doubt, surprise, solemnity,
The flickering name of “Mary;”
My love's own name!—but flickering there,
Each letter burns a hint of fear.
With thoughts that swiftly vary,
Of doubt, surprise, solemnity,
The flickering name of “Mary;”
My love's own name!—but flickering there,
Each letter burns a hint of fear.
We shrink, my love and I,
Pierced by prescient sorrow,
“To think, my sweet! that thou may'st die
To-night or else to-morrow!”
Each murmurs sadly, under breath:
“O love, malignly watched by death!”
Pierced by prescient sorrow,
“To think, my sweet! that thou may'st die
To-night or else to-morrow!”
Each murmurs sadly, under breath:
“O love, malignly watched by death!”
We turn, my love and I,
From that strange grave together,
And o'er our spirits' darkened sky
Roll mists of mournful weather;
With boding grief our hearts are rife—
Death's shadow steals 'twixt love and life!
From that strange grave together,
And o'er our spirits' darkened sky
Roll mists of mournful weather;
With boding grief our hearts are rife—
Death's shadow steals 'twixt love and life!
| Poems of Paul Hamilton Hayne | |