THE sweet and merry sunshine makes the very churchyard fair; We half forget the yellow bones, while yellow flowers are there; And while the summer beams are thrown upon the osiered heap, We tread with lingering footsteps where our "rude forefathers sleep." The hemlock does not seem so rank—the willow is not dull; The rich flood lights the coffin nail and burnishes the skull. Oh! the sweet and merry sunshine is a pleasant thing to see, Though it plays upon a grave-stone through the gloomy cypress tree. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HEART'S RETURN by EDWIN MARKHAM THE LITTLE VAGABOND, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE FRAGMENT 113 by HILDA DOOLITTLE UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTRESSES by ROBERT HERRICK THE GROVES OF BLARNEY by RICHARD ALFRED MILLIKIN NEAR DOVER, SEPTEMBER 1802 by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH THE CHILD IN A GARDEN by MARIA ABDY IN EMULATION OF MR. COWLEYS POEM CALL'D THE MOTTO by MARY ASTELL |