When we forget that Nature gives No other home to lovers than The haunted house of Death Let us then call our love immortal, Nor think we waste our breath. But Love, still looking for a place To lean her head against, and sing, Should never have her childish brain Vexed by a thought so cold and grave, To turn her joy to pain. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET TO TARTAR, A TERRIER BEAUTY by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES THE BOBOLINKS by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH A CELEBRATION OF CHARIS: 1. HIS EXCUSE FOR LOVING by BEN JONSON THE CROSS OF SNOW by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW HOMAGE TO QUINTUS SEPTIMIUS FLORENTIS CHRISTIANUS: TROY by AGATHIAS SCHOLASTICUS AUNT CAROLINE by ANNYE LEWIS ALLISON LILIES: 9. BENEATH LOFTIER STARS by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |