We'll not weep for summer over, -- No, not we: Strew above his head the clover, -- Let him be! Other eyes may weep his dying, Shed their tears There upon him, where he's lying With his peers. Unto some of them he proffered Gifts most sweet; For our hearts a grave he offered, -- Was this meet? All our fond hopes, praying, perished In his wrath, -- All the lovely dreams we cherished Strewed his path. Shall we in our tombs, I wonder, Far apart, Sundered wide as seas can sunder Heart from heart, Dream at all of all the sorrows That were ours, -- Bitter nights, more bitter morrows; Poison-flowers Summer gathered, as in madness, Saying, "See, These are yours, in place of gladness, -- Gifts from me"? Nay, the rest that will be ours Is supreme, And below the poppy flowers Steals no dream. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE MIDNIGHT SKATERS by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN A LITTLE WHILE by HORATIO (HORATIUS) BONAR ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 74 by PHILIP SIDNEY THE WESTERN JOURNALIST by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS OUT FROM A DREAM by ELLA ALLISON PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 43. ALLAH-AL-KARIM by EDWIN ARNOLD FIAMMETT: SONNET. OF FIAMMETTA SINGING by GIOVANNI BOCCACCIO |