"@2S@1EVERN, I feel the flowers o'er me grow." They grow, loved boy,—the daisies drenched with dew, Pale sentries of the Sleep that silenced you; And violets, that the poet-password know— Your soul to theirs gave whisper long ago: In all that Roman garden none with hue More bright; and many a clovered avenue, Sweet flower-forests waving to and fro. And every plant in that so holy place Yearns to your lyréd grave, and all that earth Bears wheresoever into blossoming; And every seed of honour, ruth, and grace Quickens when buried there, and comes to birth, Greening above you in eternal Spring. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...TO HIM THAT WAS CRUCIFIED by WALT WHITMAN ON A LETTER: 2 by MATHILDE BLIND THE MAID by KATHERINE MARIE CORNELIA BREGY EPIGRAM TO DON ANTONIO, KING OF PORTUGAL by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) TO MY HONOURED FRIEND MR. DRAYTON; AFFIXED TO 'POLYOLBION' by WILLIAM BROWNE (1591-1643) |