THIS, then, is the grave of my son, Whose heart she won! And nettles grow Upon his mound; and she lives just below. How he upbraided me, and left, And our lives were cleft, because I said She was hard, unfeeling, caring but to wed. Well, to see this sight I have fared these miles, And her firelight smiles from her window there, Whom he left his mother to cherish with tender care! It is enough. I'll turn and go; Yes, nettles grow where lone lies he, Who spurned me for seeing what he could not see. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NO MATTER WHAT, AFTER ALL, AND THAT BEAUTIFUL WORD SO by HAYDEN CARRUTH RHYTHM by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON WHERE? by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: WILLIAM JONES by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |