@3Dirge.@1 WOE! woe! this is death's hour Of spring; behold his flower! Fair babe of life, to whom Death, and the dreamy tomb, Was nothing yesterday, And now is all! The maiden, from her play Beside her lover gay, The church-yard voices call, Tolling so slow, Woe! woe! @3Hymeneal.@1 Joy! joy! it is love's day; Strew the young conqueror's way With summer's glories young, O'er which the birds have sung, Bright weeds from fairy rings; Here, there, away! Joy, joy, the tree-bird sings, Joy, joy, a hundred springs, Melodies ever say,— Maiden and boy, Joy! joy! @3Dirge.@1 She cut the roses down, And wreathed her bridal crown. Death, playful, called her 'blossom,' And tore her from life's bosom. Fair maiden, or fair ghost,— Which is thy name?— Come to the spectral host; They pity thee the most, And, to the cold world's shame, Soft cry they, low, Woe! woe! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REMBRANDT TO REMBRANDT by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HOLY THURSDAY, FR. SONGS OF INNOCENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW FOUR THINGS [TO DO] by HENRY VAN DYKE NOREMBEGA by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE HYMNARY: 324. WHITSUNTIDE by ADAM OF SAINT VICTOR |