LIKE to that little homely flower That never from her rough house stirs While summer lasts, but sits and combs The sunbeams with her purple burs, So kept she in her house content While love's bright summer with her stayed; But change works change, and since she met A shadow from the land of shade; The ghost of that wild flower that sits In her rough house, and never stirs While summer lasts, has not a face So dead of meaning, as is hers. In vain the pitying year puts on Her rose-red mornings, for like streams Lost from the sunlight under banks Of wintry darkness, are her dreams. In vain among their clouds of green The wild birds sing -- she says with tears Their sweet tongues stammer in the tunes They sang so well in other years. Her home in ruins lies, and thorns Choke with their briery arms, the door; What matter, says she, since that love Will cross the threshold, never more. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 78. AL-BARR by EDWIN ARNOLD CHILDHOOD by JENS IMMANUEL BAGGESEN NO SORROW PECULIAR TO THE SUFFERER by VINCENT BOURNE HYMN FOR THE ANNIVERSARY OF HARTFORD AGRICULTURAL SOCIETY by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE JAY WALKER by BERTON BRALEY MYSTERY by MAXWELL STRUTHERS BURT WALL STREET by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON |