 | Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman |  |
94
[V. On our lone pathway bloomed no earthly hopes]
On our lone pathway bloomed no earthly hopes;—Sorrow and death were near us, as we stood
Where the dim forest, from the upland slopes,
Swept darkly to the sea. The enchanted wood
Thrilled, as by some foreboding terror stirred;
And as the waves broke on the lonely shore,
In their low monotone, methought I heard
A solemn voice that sighed, “Ye meet no more.”
There, while the level sunbeams seemed to burn
Through the long aisles of red, autumnal gloom,—
Where stately, storied cenotaphs inurn
Sweet human hopes, too fair on Earth to bloom,—
Was the bud reaped, whose petals, pure and cold,
Sleep on my heart till Heaven the flower unfold.
| Poems by Sarah Helen Whitman | |