Under the lilacs we shall meet no more, Nor Alfred's welcome hail me at the door, Nor the brave guardian of the hall contend In harsher voice to greet his trusty friend, Nor on the banks of Arno or of Seine Sure is my hope to bend my steps again; But be it surer, Margarite, that Power May still remember many a festive hour, More festive when we saw the captive free, And clasp afresh the hand held forth by thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...IF WE KNEW; OR, BLESSINGS OF TO-DAY by MAY LOUISE RILEY SMITH TWELVE SONNETS: 8 by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) PILGRIMAGE by ELIZABETH WILCOX BEASLEY THE BLAZED TRAIL by ABBIE FARWELL BROWN FOR THE PICTURE, 'THE LAST OF ENGLAND' by FORD MADOX BROWN THE WANDERER: PROLOGUE. PART 2 by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |