Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A FOREST GRAVEYARD, by GEORGE HERBERT CLARKE



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A FOREST GRAVEYARD, by            
First Line: The birds brood silent in the underbrush
Last Line: Be I thy mourner, child, and thou my care!
Subject(s): Forests; Graves; Humanity; Mourning; Nature; Woods; Tombs; Tombstones; Bereavement


THE birds brood silent in the underbrush,
A stricken ghostliness stands each stark tree,
The hesitating river glides less free,
Fearful of the inviolable hush;
Beyond the stream a solitary thrush
Sings, and the sun's deep crimson drapery
Is drooping o'er the land, but breathes to me
No hope the wintering shadows cannot crush.

I turn to go, and in the littered leaves
Stumble upon a shell, a shapeless stone,
A withered rose, huddled together there;
O secret grave, sure no sad mother grieves
The little ward of death thou guard'st alone:
Be I thy mourner, child, and thou my care!





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