O shadows past the candle-gleam, so brief to pause in flight, Are shadows that can come no more Still moving unseen on the door Of Yesternight? O roses on the crumbling wall, so soon to droop and die, Are any roses that are dead Still fragrant where their petals bled In Junes gone by? O heart of mine, there is a face nor grief nor prayer can bring . . . Think you in some far Shadow-land One keeps my roses in his hand, Remembering? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BUCOLIC COMEDY: KING COPHETUA AND THE BEGGAR MAID by EDITH SITWELL GEORGE WASHINGTON by JOHN HALL INGHAM THE COMING OF SPRING by NORA PERRY THE NEW TIMON AND THE POETS by ALFRED TENNYSON THE WINDOW; OR, THE SONG OF THE WRENS: THE LETTER by ALFRED TENNYSON |