A little pile of gourd, and flower, and fruit, As up the aisle I go, salutes mine eyes - Our bright thanksgiving at the lectern's foot, A sweet compendious mellow harvest lies: But where are Maud and Willie, wont to be Both in their place at seasons such as these? Alas, they perished in the chill March breeze, Though still they seem alive and bright to me; Though many a month of sorrow intervenes, Since last I heard their hymns and saw them pray, I still recall the frosty winter gleam, When, on the morn of their last Christmas day, They stood, and sang beneath the moted beam That cross'd the church, and pierced the evergreens. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CATARACT OF LODORE by ROBERT SOUTHEY ON THE EXTINCTION OF THE VENETIAN REPUBLIC by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH AUTUMN by GUILLAUME APOLLINAIRE RELEASE by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD BRUCE: HOW THE BRUCE CROSSED LOCH LOMOND by JOHN BARBOUR |