The rose has crumbled now to fragrant dust, The pansy's darkness lies on darkness, too. Because their lovely lives are gone they must Be glanced at here, by night, as colored new -- Discovered fragments underneath the sky. Our lives -- not giving of delight, as theirs So softly felt, nor for our breath to die -- A quiet going from a time that shares Its hours with sunlight, leaves, the grass, and rain. Our eyes are seeking eyes that look above, Around, that look at laughter and at pain. We sing of this our living and of love; And from our calmest, sleep-filled nights we seem -- To waken still, to suffer, and to dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONG FIRST BY A SHEPHERD by WILLIAM BLAKE MADRIGAL: 1 by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN THE RESPECTABLE BURGHER, ON 'THE HIGHER CRITICISM' by THOMAS HARDY POPPIES IN THE WHEAT by HELEN MARIA HUNT FISKE JACKSON MY MOTHER by WILLIAM BELL SCOTT ODES: BOOK 2: ODE 12. ON RECOVERING FROM A FIT OF SICKNESS IN COUNTRY by MARK AKENSIDE |