YE pilgrim-folk, advancing pensively As if in thought of distant things, I pray, Is your own land indeed so far away— As by your aspect it would seem to be— That this our heavy sorrow leaves you free Though passing through the mournful town midway; Like unto men that understand to-day Nothing at all of her great misery? Yet if ye will but stay, whom I accost, And listen to my words a little space, At going ye shall mourn with a loud voice. It is her Beatrice that she hath lost; Of whom the least word spoken holds such grace That men weep hearing it, and have no choice. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...ENCOURAGED by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE RUBAIYAT, 1879 EDITION: 71 by OMAR KHAYYAM LEGEND by JOHN VAN ALSTYN WEAVER THE BELLS AT MIDNIGHT by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE DAWNING O' THE YEAR by MARY (MAY) ELIZABETH (MCGRATH) BLAKE THE MODERN VERSION (TO A LUCY STONER) by BERTON BRALEY |