@2T@1HE birds brood silent in the underbrush, A stricken ghostliness stands each stark tree, The hesitating river glides less free, Fearful of the inviolable hush; Beyond the stream a solitary thrush Sings, and the sun's deep crimson drapery Is drooping o'er the land, but breathes to me No hope the wintering shadows cannot crush. I turn to go, and in the littered leaves Stumble upon a shell, a shapeless stone, A withered rose, huddled together there; O secret grave, sure no sad mother grieves The little ward of death thou guard'st alone: Be I thy mourner, child, and thou my care! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE NIGHT OF TRAFALGAR by THOMAS HARDY A BALLAD OF THE BOSTON TEA-PARTY [DECEMBER 16, 1773] by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES A SHROPSHIRE LAD: 21. BREDON HILL by ALFRED EDWARD HOUSMAN THE CITY MOUSE AND THE COUNTRY [OR, GARDEN] MOUSE by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI WHEN I HEARD AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY by WALT WHITMAN HASCHEESH by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH |