Old warder of these buried bones, And answering now my random stroke With fruitful cloud and living smoke, Dark yew, that graspest at the stones And dippest toward the dreamless head, To thee too comes the golden hour When flower is feeling after flower; But Sorrow, -- fixt upon the dead, And darkening the dark graves of men, -- What whisper'd from her lying lips? Thy gloom is kindled at the tips, And passes into gloom again. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HENDECASYLLABICS by ALFRED TENNYSON FEAR AND LOVE by EGMONT HEGEL ARENS ON A PORTRAIT by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD WEN GOTT BETRUGT, IST WOHL BETROGEN by ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH SEVEN WONDERS OF THE WORLD: 1. THE PRINTING-PRESS by CHRISTOPHER PEARSE CRANCH THE DIVINE PRESENCE by AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMY, FOR MOST PART ACCORDING TO TREMELIUS: 3 by JOHN DONNE |