Ivy has covered all the wall. How many hours, how many tears, since last we loved? How many years? No roses now. Ivy has crushed the vine. Soul, whither didst thou go? Climbing across the nests of nightingales, ivy has stifled the whole chateau. Wind, the deep wells are choked with the roses of yesterday. Is that your hiding-place, O my dead wife? No one replies? Who would reply? . . . Is it not best to listen to the wind that sighs through the grasses "My sweet love?" Flush with the roof the ancient, crimson sun is cut through the midst so mournfully! Shall I bid the gardener come? The gardener? No. It would be better to summon Death to reap the long grass, so many memories and so much love, and the setting sun at the level of the earth! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LIGHT'OOD FIRE by JOHN HENRY BONER GOOD AND BAD LUCK by HEINRICH HEINE THE CAPTAINS OF THE YEARS by ARTHUR RAYMOND MACDOUGALL JR. ON THE ENGINE BY NIGHT by ALEXANDER ANDERSON TO HIS WIFE by DECIMUS MAGNUS AUSONIUS SONNETS OF MANHOOD: 20. 'SONG IS NOT DEAD' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) GOD BLESS YOU, DEAR, TODAY by JOHN BENNETT (1865-1956) |