GREEN be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days! None knew thee but to love thee, Nor named thee but to praise. Tears fell, when thou weft dying, From eyes unused to weep, And long, where thou art lying, Will tears the cold turf steep. When hearts, whose truth was proven, Like thine, are laid in earth, There should a wreath be woven To tell the world their worth; And I, who woke each morrow To clasp thy hand in mine, Who shared thy joy and sorrow, Whose weal and woe were thine, It should be mine to braid it Around thy faded brow, But I've in vain essayed it, And feel I cannot now. While memory bids me weep thee, or thoughts nor words are free, The grief is fixed too deeply That mourns a man like thee. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE FLAME LIGHTS UP by DAVID IGNATOW SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 22 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 6 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING A DOUBTFUL CHOICE by EDWARD DE VERE ELEGY: 9. THE AUTUMNAL [BEAUTY] by JOHN DONNE THE ROARING FROST by ALICE MEYNELL THE TELLTALE by ELIZABETH AKERS ALLEN |