OVER the plains where Persian hosts Laid down their lives for glory Flutter the cyclamens, like ghosts That witness to their story. Oh, fair! Oh, white! Oh, pure as snow! On countless graves how sweet they grow! Or crimson, like the cruel wounds From which the life-blood, flowing, Poured out where now on grassy mounds The low, soft winds are blowing: Oh, fair! Oh, red! Like blood of slain; Not even time can cleanse that stain. But when my dear these blossoms holds, All loveliness her dower, All woe and joy the past enfolds In her find fullest flower. Oh, fair! Oh, pure! Oh, white and red! If she but live, what are the dead! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BEAVER BROOK by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL ADONAIS; AN ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF JOHN KEATS by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY CLEVER TOM CLINCH GOING TO BE HANGED by JONATHAN SWIFT THE ENTHUSIAST, OR, THE LOVER OF NATURE by JOSEPH WARTON THE BROKEN WATER WHEEL by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM WHEN KREISLER PLAYS by FRANCES BARTLETT |