O PASSER-BY, draw near! Upon a grave I grow; That she who died was dear They planted me to show. Pluck me as you go by -- I am her messenger; With her sweet breath I sigh; In me her pulses stir. Through these my quivering leaves She fain would speak to you -- She whom the grave bereaves Of the dear life she knew. "How glad I was up there!" She whispers underground. "Have they who found me fair Some other fair one found? "Has he who loved me best Learned Love's deep lore again, Since I was laid to rest Far from the world of men? "Nay! Surely he will come To dwell here at the last; In Death's strange silent home My hand shall hold him fast. "Yet would that he might know How hard it is to bide In darkness here below And miss him from my side! "Fain would I send my soul To lie upon his breast, And breathe to him Love's whole That life left unconfest." Ah, pluck me, passer-by! For I would bear her breath -- Undying Love's own sigh -- To him who flees from Death. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE RAINBOW [IN THE SKY] by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH A SUMMER SUMMARY by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS THE ANVIL OF SOULS by WILLIAM ROSE BENET GREEN LEAVES AND SERE by MATHILDE BLIND AT SEA by FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON THE FLOWERING TREE by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES THEY WHO COME BACK by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON OBSERVATIONS IN THE ART OF ENGLISH POESY: 18. ELEGIAC VERSE: THE FIRST EPIGRAM by THOMAS CAMPION |