No more ye warblers of the wood! no more; Nor pour your descant grating on my soul; Thou young-eyed Spring! gay in thy verdant stole, More welcome were to me grim Winter's wildest roar. How can ye charm, ye flowers, with all your dyes? Ye blow upon the sod that wraps my friend! How can I to the tuneful strain attend? That strain flows round the untimely tomb where Riddell lies. Yes, pour, ye warblers! pour the notes of woe, And soothe the Virtues weeping o'er his bier: The man of worth -- and hath not left his peer! Is in his "narrow house," for ever darkly low. Thee, Spring! again with joy shall others greet; Me, memory of my loss will only meet. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MEDITATION ON A JUNE EVENING by CONRAD AIKEN SYNOPSIS OF A FAILED POEM by JAMES GALVIN LOVELIGHT by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SOLDIER by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE MAN TO BE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON DISMAL MOMENT PASSING by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: HILDRUP TUBBS by EDGAR LEE MASTERS SWEET CLOVER by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DILIGENCE IS TO MAGIC AS PROGRESS IS TO FLIGHT by MARIANNE MOORE |