FROM under the stone, the white stone, Fire blazes not, nor pitch seethes, But a youth's heart is seething. Not for his father dear, nor for his mother dear, Nor for a young wife well-beloved, Seethes the heart of the youth; But for a maiden well beloved, For her who used to be his love. "There had reached me broken tidings That the maiden fair was ill. Quickly follows them a letter, -- The maiden fair is dead. I will sadly to the stable: Lead my good -- my best horse forth, Hasten to the church of God, Tie my horse beside the belfry, Stamp upon the mould. Split open, damp Mother Earth! Fly asunder, ye coffin planks! Unroll, O brocade of gold! Awake, awake, O maiden fair, O maiden fair, my olden love!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEEP IN THE QUIET WOOD by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON CHAMBER MUSIC: 35 by JAMES JOYCE OWL AGAINST ROBIN by SIDNEY LANIER BALLROOM DARK by CLARENCE MAJOR ODE: THE MEDITERRANEAN by GEORGE SANTAYANA IN A CUBAN GARDEN by SARA TEASDALE |