I saw a picture of a soldier low Upon some grisly battle-field. Tall firs Above him smote the sky with rigid spurs; Death reigned: and silent blood was on the snow. A woman's form stood by him, and she held A wreath, and loth to give it, loth to go, She seemed,—and it might be the pure tears welled From her heart's depths. The picture did not show. O sweet one, be thou unto me as she! When I am lying dead upon life's snow, Black trees above, and spots of blood below, Come thou with the sweet song-wreath tenderly. If but thy loving face o'er me be bent At that still moment,—I shall be content. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VIGNETTES OVERSEAS: 1. OFF GIBRALTAR by SARA TEASDALE THE TEMPEST: PROLOGUE by JOHN DRYDEN UPON HIS PICTURE by THOMAS RANDOLPH DERELICT; A REMINISCENCE OF R.L.S.'S TREASURE ISLAND by YOUNG EWING ALLISON LINES ON THE DEATH OF PHILIP MEADOWS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |