WITHER'D pansies faint and sweet, O'er his breast in silence shed, Faded lilies o'er his feet, Waning roses round his head, Where in dreamless sleep he lies -- Folded palms and sealed eyes -- Young Love, within my bosom -- dead. Young Love that was so fond, so fair, With his mouth of rosy red, Argent wing and golden hair, And those blue eyen, glory-fed From some fount of splendor, far Beyond or moon or sun or star -- And can it be that he is dead? Ay! his breast is cold as snow: Pulse and breath forever fled; If I kiss'd him ever so, To my kiss he were as lead; If I clipp'd him as of yore He would answer me no more With lip or hand -- for he is dead. But breathe no futile sigh; no tear Smirch his pure and lonely bed. Let no foolish cippus rear Its weight above him. Only spread Rose, lily, pale forget-me-not, And pansies round the silent spot Where in his youth he lieth -- dead. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: FLETCHER MCGEE by EDGAR LEE MASTERS PORTRAIT OF A BOY by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET A MAN'S VOCATION IS NOBODY'S BUSINESS by JAMES GALVIN WHERE? by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON JULY IN GEORGY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE BLACK MAMMY by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF STERLING AND SARAH LANIER by SIDNEY LANIER |