THE sweet and merry sunshine makes the very churchyard fair; We half forget the yellow bones, while yellow flowers are there; And while the summer beams are thrown upon the osiered heap, We tread with lingering footsteps where our "rude forefathers sleep." The hemlock does not seem so rank—the willow is not dull; The rich flood lights the coffin nail and burnishes the skull. Oh! the sweet and merry sunshine is a pleasant thing to see, Though it plays upon a grave-stone through the gloomy cypress tree. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ON THE KING'S ILLNESS by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD NETLEY ABBEY; A LEGEND OF HAMPSHIRE by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM TWELVE SONNETS: 3. THE VALLEY ROSES by GEORGE BARLOW (1847-1913) FATHERHOOD by HENRY CHARLES BEECHING ON A JUNIPER-TREE, CUT DOWN TO MAKE BUSKS by APHRA BEHN MERCHANT ADVENTURERS (WITH ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO SIMEON STRUNSKY) by BERTON BRALEY CORINTH by GEORGE GORDON BYRON |