@2T@1HE birds brood silent in the underbrush, A stricken ghostliness stands each stark tree, The hesitating river glides less free, Fearful of the inviolable hush; Beyond the stream a solitary thrush Sings, and the sun's deep crimson drapery Is drooping o'er the land, but breathes to me No hope the wintering shadows cannot crush. I turn to go, and in the littered leaves Stumble upon a shell, a shapeless stone, A withered rose, huddled together there; O secret grave, sure no sad mother grieves The little ward of death thou guard'st alone: Be I thy mourner, child, and thou my care! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...1914: 4. THE DEAD by RUPERT BROOKE ODE WRITTEN IN [THE BEGINNING OF THE YEAR] 1746 by WILLIAM COLLINS (1721-1759) PALINGENESIS by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW PHILOMELA by JOHN CROWE RANSOM A DEDICATION by ALFRED TENNYSON VARIUM ET MUTABILE by THOMAS WYATT TO A GIPSY CHILD BY THE SEA-SHORE by MATTHEW ARNOLD |