On the cord dead hangs our sister, She of the wondrous lily feet. They have blasted our fragrant flower -- She shall curse them as is meet! Hold the broom in her dead hand -- Raise her up until she stand. Backward, forward, sweep the room! Wealth and happiness and long life Sweeps she with avenging broom From the house where she was wife. Backward, forward, sweep the broom Sweeping doom, sweeping doom! Now the gods will surely punish -- Surely pity the young bride. She was like a willow blossom, It was springtime when she died. Hold the broom in her dead hand -- Raise her up until she stand! She was always flower-gay Till they broke her smiling heart. In this house she would not stay -- Take her up-- let us depart. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A PASTORAL DIALOGUE: SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS by THOMAS CAREW A NET TO SNARE THE MOONLIGHT by NICHOLAS VACHEL LINDSAY SNOWBOUND by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER FAREWELL TO CYNTHIA by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE PHOENIX TO MRS. BUTTS by WILLIAM BLAKE |