SWEET, on the daisies of your English grave I lay this little wreath of Indian flowers, Fragrant for me because the scent they have Breathes of the memory of our wedded hours; For others scentless; and for you, in heaven, To pale and faded, dear dead wife! to wear, Save that they mean—what makes all fault forgiven— That he who brings them lays his heart, too, there | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...VARIATIONS: 12 by CONRAD AIKEN CONTRA MORTEM: THE FALL by HAYDEN CARRUTH FOR ST. BARTHOLOMEW'S EVE by MALCOLM COWLEY POSTHUMOUS by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON FRANCIS II, KING OF NAPLES; SONNET by AMY LOWELL |