THE path from me to you that led, Untrodden long, with grass is grown, — Mute carpet that his lieges spread Before the Prince Oblivion When he goes visiting the dead. And who are they but who forget? You, who my coming could surmise Ere any hint of me as yet Warned other ears and other eyes, See the path blurred without regret. But when I trace its windings sweet With saddened steps, at every spot That feels the memory in my feet, Each grass-blade turns forget-me-not, Where murmuring bees your name repeat. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE LEAVES FIRST by CARL PHILLIPS HOUSES OF DREAMS by SARA TEASDALE THE YOUNG MYSTIC by LOUIS UNTERMEYER THE VIRTUOSO; IN IMITATION OF SPENCER'S STYLE AND STANZA by MARK AKENSIDE ADVICE TO A RAVEN IN RUSSIA by JOEL BARLOW THE PASSIONS: AN ODE FOR MUSIC by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) |