OVER the plains where Persian hosts Laid down their lives for glory Flutter the cyclamens, like ghosts That witness to their story. Oh, fair! Oh, white! Oh, pure as snow! On countless graves how sweet they grow! Or crimson, like the cruel wounds From which the life-blood, flowing, Poured out where now on grassy mounds The low, soft winds are blowing: Oh, fair! Oh, red! Like blood of slain; Not even time can cleanse that stain. But when my dear these blossoms holds, All loveliness her dower, All woe and joy the past enfolds In her find fullest flower. Oh, fair! Oh, pure! Oh, white and red! If she but live, what are the dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...JOURNEY TO A KNOWN PLACE by HAYDEN CARRUTH NORTH WINTER by HAYDEN CARRUTH THE LITTLE FIRE IN THE WOODS by HAYDEN CARRUTH A PECK OF GOLD by ROBERT FROST REVIEW by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON TO J. D. H. (KILLED AT SURREY C. H., OCTOBER, 1866) by SIDNEY LANIER |