MY happy lime is gold with flowers; From noon to noon the breezes blow Their love pipes; and the wild bees beat Their drums, and sack the blossom bowers... Yet, stifling in the valley heat, A woman's dying there below! Between the blowing rose so red And honey-saffroned lily-cup, Receiving heaven, so I lie... But down the field a calf lies dead; At this same burning summer sky Its velvet darkened eye looks up. Behind the fairest masks of life Dwells ever that pale constant death. Philosophers! What shall we say? Must we keep wistful death to wife? Or hide her image quite away, And, wanton, draw forgetful breath? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOUISA MAY ALCOTT by LOUISE CHANDLER MOULTON THE POET'S SPEAR by ARCHILOCHUS TO THE NIGHTINGALE by PHILIP AYRES THE WEDDING DAY; OR, THE BUCCANEER'S CURSE; A FAMILY LEGEND by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM SONNETS OF MANHOOD: SONNET 25. 'SOMETHING WAS WANTING' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) GREAT BRITTAINES SUNNES-SET by WILLIAM BASSE YOU, WHO HAVE SONS TO SPARE! by L. ALLEN BECK |