Let us clear a little space, And make Love a burial place. He is dead, dear, as you see, And he wearies you and me, Growing heavier, day by day, Let us bury him, I say. Wings of dead white butterflies, These shall shroud him, as he lies In his casket rich and rare, Made of finest maiden-hair. With the pollen of the rose Let us his white eye-lids close. Put the rose thorn in his hand, Shorn of leaves -- you understand. Let some holy water fall On his dead face, tears of gall -- As we kneel by him and say, "Dreams to dreams," and turn away. Those grave diggers, Doubt, Distrust, They will lower him to the dust. Let us part here with a kiss, You go that way, I go this. Since we buried Love to-day We will walk a separate way. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FUNERAL by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE COMPLAINT OF THE ABSENCE OF HER LOVER BEING UPON THE SEA by HENRY HOWARD THE RUNES ON WELAND'S SWORD by RUDYARD KIPLING THE SLAVE'S DREAM by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW IN THE TWILIGHT by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL THE EAGLE'S SONG by RICHARD MANSFIELD ON THE SITE OF A MULBERRY-TREE PLANTED BY SHAKESPEARE ... by DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI |