I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HARP by RALPH WALDO EMERSON SONNET: 8 by WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE THERE IS NO LOVING AFTER DEATH by ASCLEPIADES OF SAMOS BLESSINGS by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER BATTALION IN REST by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN SHREWSBURY NIGHT by CHARLES WARE BORDEN |