Into the garden of sorrow, Some day we all must roam, If not to-day, then to-morrow, Bow 'neath its purple dome, Out from the musk-laden banqueting halls, Doffing our mirth-spangled vestments like thralls, Softly we wend to Gethsemane, In the hour that sorrow calls! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SHADOW-CASTING by JAMES GALVIN CLAY BISON IN A CAVE by CLARENCE MAJOR WINTER NIGHT by CH'IEN WEN OF LIANG LAMENT FOR FLODDEN [FIELD] by JEAN ELLIOT (1727-1805) LAMENT by WILFRID WILSON GIBSON ULTIMA THULE: MY CATHEDRAL by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW |