Let dew the flowers fill; No need of fell despair, Though to the grave you bear One still of soul -- but now too still, One fair -- but now too fair. For, beneath your feet, the mound, And the waves, that play around, Have meaning in their grassy, and their watery, smiles; And, with a thousand sunny wiles, Each says, as he reproves, Death's arrow oft is Love's. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FOR DECORATION DAY: 1861-1865 by RUPERT HUGHES STABAT MATER DOLOROSA by JACOPONE DA TODI MAIDEN MELANCHOLY by RAINER MARIA RILKE THE STORM by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 104. WRITTEN AT FLORENCE: 2 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |