BY strangers left upon a lonely shore, Unknown, unhonored, was the friendless dead; For child to weep, or widow to deplore, There never came to his unburied head -- All from his dreary habitation fled. Nor will the lanterned fisherman at eve Launch on that water by the witches' tower, Where hellebore and hemlock seem to weave Round its dark vaults a melancholy bower For spirits of the dead at night's enchanted hour. They dread to meet thee, poor unfortunate! Whose crime it was, on Life's unfinished road, To feel the step-dame buffetings of fate, And render back thy being's heavy load. Ah! once, perhaps, the social passions glowed In thy devoted bosom -- and the hand That smote its kindred heart, might yet be prone To deeds of mercy. Who may understand Thy many woes, poor suicide, unknown? -- He who thy being gave shall judge of thee alone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A TRIBUTE OF GRASSES by HAMLIN GARLAND SONGS by RICHARD HENRY STODDARD WALT WHITMAN'S CAUTION by WALT WHITMAN THE OLD MEN ADMIRING THEMSELVES IN THE WATER by WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS THE HARES; A FABLE by JAMES BEATTIE TO HELEN KELLER by FRANCES BEEBE RECOLLECTINS OF CHRIST'S HOSPITAL by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN |