I too a sister had! too cruel Death! How sad remembrance bids my bosom heave! Tranquil her soul, as sleeping Infant's breath; Meek were her manners as a vernal Eve. Knowledge, that frequent lifts the bloated mind, Gave her the treasure of a lowly breast, And Wit, to venom'd Malice oft assign'd, Dwelt in her bosom in a Turtle's nest. Cease, busy Memory! cease to urge the dart; Nor on my soul her love to me impress! For oh I mourn in anguish -- and my heart Feels the keen pang, th' unutterable distress. Yet wherefore grieve I that her sorrows cease, For Life was misery, and the Grave is Peace! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON A DEAD CHILD by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES I SIT AND SEW by ALICE RUTH MOORE DUNBAR-NELSON INTO BATTLE by JULIAN GRENFELL WHEN I BUY PICTURES by MARIANNE MOORE ON THE GRASSHOPPER by ANACREON THE IMPROVISATORE: THE INDUCTION TO THE SECOND FYTTE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES |