She does not sleep in consecrated ground, Within a walled and populous town of death. Her soul loved solitude. Now in the deep spruce wood She sleeps alone. Only the shy young deer approach the stone, A rough-hewn granite full of ruby fire, (Her life was fire). Only the wandering wind, the climbing briar. It is her own desire To sleep alone. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DOROTHY'S DOWER by PHOEBE CARY MARY MAGDALENE by GEORGE HERBERT THE HOUSE OF LIFE: 7. SUPREME SURRENDER by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI OF THE MANNER OF ADDRESSING CLOUDS by WALLACE STEVENS IN MEMORIAM A.H.H.: 67 by ALFRED TENNYSON THE DEATH OF THE OLD YEAR by ALFRED TENNYSON |