I saw a picture of a soldier low Upon some grisly battle-field. Tall firs Above him smote the sky with rigid spurs; Death reigned: and silent blood was on the snow. A woman's form stood by him, and she held A wreath, and loth to give it, loth to go, She seemed,—and it might be the pure tears welled From her heart's depths. The picture did not show. O sweet one, be thou unto me as she! When I am lying dead upon life's snow, Black trees above, and spots of blood below, Come thou with the sweet song-wreath tenderly. If but thy loving face o'er me be bent At that still moment,—I shall be content. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HARRY PLOUGHMAN by GERARD MANLEY HOPKINS A FAREWELL TO LONDON IN THE YEAR 1715 by ALEXANDER POPE WOMAN'S WILL by JOHN GODFREY SAXE EXALTATION by HILDA WHILT ARCHER SUNSET-MOOD by STANLEY E. BABB LILIES: 13. 'LET US NEVER COMFORT EACH OTHER INTO SLEEP' by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) |