Now, Like the pines intoning Though some solitary gloom, My errant thoughts go pattering About love's ancient tomb, And though no breath of incense rare Lies round the shattered cup, A banquet weird, the fragments Where the ghost of love May sup. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EASTER by WILLIAM HENRY DAVIES FOR THAT HE LOOKED NOT UPON HER by GEORGE GASCOIGNE CALVARY by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY SUNDAY MORNING by WALLACE STEVENS THE FAMINE YEAR by JANE FRANCESCA WILDE |