COME with the summer leaves, love, to my grave, And, if you doubt among the quiet dead, Choose out that mound where greenest grasses wave And where the flowers grow thickest and most red. Come in the morning while the dews of night, Which are fair Nature's tears in darkness shed, Rim the sad petals nor are garnered quite, Like my lost hopes untimely harvested. Come to my grave—ah gather, love, those flowers! Out of my heart they grow for your dear head. These are its songs unwritten and all yours, The love I loved you with and left unsaid. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...EPITAPH by LASCELLES ABERCROMBIE THE WILLIAM P. FRYE [FEBRUARY 28, 1915] by JEANNE ROBERT FOSTER THE TWELVE-FORTY-FIVE (FOR EDWARD J. WHEELER) by ALFRED JOYCE KILMER ELIOT'S OAK; SONNET by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW SCHOOL AND SCHOOLFELLOWS; FLOREAT ETONA by WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED ONLY A YEAR' by HARRIET BEECHER STOWE DAY AND NIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH PICTURES OF MOTHER by STELLA PFEIFFER BAISCH THE TRIUMPHS OF THY CONQUERING POWER by WILLIAM HILEY BATHURST |