I too a sister had! too cruel Death! How sad remembrance bids my bosom heave! Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant's breath; Meek were her manners as a vernal Eve. Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind, Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast, And Wit, to venom'd Malice oft assign'd, Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle's nest. Cease, busy Memory! cease to urge the dart; Nor on my soul her love to me impress! For oh I mourn in anguish -- and my heart Feels the keen pang, th' unutterable distress. Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease, For Life was misery, and the Grave is Peace! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HOUSE OF DREAMS by SARA TEASDALE THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 110. THE OASIS OF SIDI KHALED by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT EPITAPHS OF THE WAR, 1914-18: A DRIFTER OFF TARENTUM by RUDYARD KIPLING INCIDENTS IN THE LIFE OF MY UNCLE ARLY by EDWARD LEAR HUGH SELWYN MAUBERLEY: 1. E.P. ODE POUR L'ELECTION DE SON SEPULCHRE by EZRA POUND THE FLATTERERS by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE WATERS OF LETHE by HARRY RANDOLPH BLYTHE SUBWAY by CLARA EXLINE BOCKOVEN EPISTLE TO MR. M'ADAM; IN ANSWER TO AN OBLIGING LETTER ... by ROBERT BURNS |