ALBERT PIKE THY wife shall wait Many long days for thee; And when the gate Swings on its unused hinges, she, Opening her dim and grief contracted eye, And still forbidding hope to die, Longing for thee will look; Till like some lone and gentle brook That pineth in the summer-heat away And dies someday, She wastes her mournful life out at her eyes. Vainly, ah! vainly we deplore Thy death, departed friend! No more Shalt thou be seen by us beneath the skies. The barbed arrow has gone through Thy heart, and all the blue Hath faded from thy clay-cold veins, and thou, With stern and pain-contracted brow, Like one that wrestled mightily with death, Art lying there. Farewell! our course yet further westward lies. Thy grave is deeper than the wolf can go, And we have driven the wheels above thee, so That the Indian may not find thy sepulchre. Farewell! for now the trains begin to stir; And we with quivering lip, And lingering and reluctant step, Must leave thee here alone. Once more farewell! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VERSES ADDRESSED TO IMITATOR OF FIRST SATIRE OF HORACE by MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU MINDEN HOUSE by WILLIAM BARNES SONNET AGAINST THE DISPRAYSERS OF POETRIE by RICHARD BARNFIELD PEACE ON EARTH by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON PORCELAIN VASE by GAMALIEL BRADFORD WINTER by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN THE BLACK RIDERS: 7 by STEPHEN CRANE |