MY little hour of envied joy is past, My Love is dead; Deep in her grave my passionate arms hold fast Her wounded head; Oh, could I lie beside her! -- even there 'Twere better than this earth and living air. All children wonder that I never smile, Not mine their pain; The green trees and the streams I loved beguile In vain, in vain; Where, where is now my laughter, where her voice, And her bright eyes that bade the woods rejoice? Oh silent dwelling, homeless world, sad heart, Always alone! How canst thou live and bear thy bitter part Now she is gone? Clasp her cold heart to thine, and rise no more; Enough of loveless life, shut to the door. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FROM HIDDEN SOURCE by JEAN ANDERSON POTTERY MAKER by MARGARET MARCHAND BROWN AN EPITAPH ON MRS. EL: Y by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) ON SCARING SOME WATERFOWL IN LOCH-TURIT by ROBERT BURNS PICTURES by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON THE WATCHERS (OLD AND NEW) by HENRY CHAPPELL |