OUT from the City's dust and roar, You wandered through the open door; Paused at a plaything pail and spade Across a tiny hillock laid; Then noted on your dexter side Some moneyed mourner's 'love or pride,' And so, -- beyond a hawthorn-tree, Showering its rain of rosy bloom Alike on low and lofty tomb, -- You came upon it -- suddenly. How strange! The very grasses' growth Around it seemed forlorn and loath; The very ivy seemed to turn Askance that wreathed the neighbour urn The slab had sunk; the head declined, And left the rails a wreck behind. No name; you traced a '6,' -- a '7,' Part of 'affliction' and of 'Heaven' And then, in letters sharp and clear, You read -- O Irony austere! -- 'Tho' lost to Sight, to Mem'ry dear.' | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DANCERS by KATHERINE HARRIS BRADLEY THE DAUGHTER OF DEBATE by ELIZABETH I TO LUCASTA ON GOING TO THE WARS FOR THE FOURTH TIME by ROBERT RANKE GRAVES ONE PRAYER by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) S. JOHN: THE DISCIPLE, WHOM JESUS LOVED by JOSEPH BEAUMONT ON GRACE CHURCH CORNER by WILLIAM ROSE BENET THE BATTLE OF MARATHON by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SHAKESPEARE READS THE KING JAMES VERSION by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |