NOW hill and dale begin to bloom anew, The tree-tops bud, and winds pass whispering through; Faint grow the bugle-notes, with sunset's red -- I would be merry, but my heart is dead. My comrades ply their oars, and scorn delay, The furrowed wave gleams back the starlight ray; To the guitar the dancing boat is sped -- Fain were I merry, but my heart is dead. The moon is up, and clearer shine the skies, From every bosom songs of mirth arise; In all our goblets wine glows darkly red -- Fain were I merry, but my heart is dead. And could my Love rise up from out the grave, And grant all dear delights that once she gave, And say all tender words that once she said -- In vain! The Past is past, the Dead are dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IMITATIONS OF HORACE: ODE IV, 1 by ALEXANDER POPE CLANCY OF THE MOUNTED POLICE by ROBERT WILLIAM SERVICE WINTER MEMORIES by HENRY DAVID THOREAU THE BLIND MAN by WILLIAM HERVEY ALLEN JR. I COME SINGING by JOSEPH AUSLANDER BRUCE: HOW THE BRUCE CROSSED LOCH LOMOND by JOHN BARBOUR UPON MY FATHERS SUDDEN & DANGEROUS SICKNESS by JOSEPH BEAUMONT |