Sun on the land, where perfumes call; Shadows along my garden lie; The graves are green by the old stone wall: Ah, what a gorgeous day to die! * * * * I ate my caviar to-day, Counting the eggs in idle joy, Dreaming the purple light away, Golden my thoughts, without alloy. Yvonne is there beneath the sod, Olga, Helenski, Mascha Mine; Olga's mound is a trifle odd, It throws the whole row out of line. You are so sweet, dear Evavitch, So fair! So young! And so were these. But most of them were much too rich; And then, besides, I wanted ease. Dear Evavitch, your lilting name, Your sad, sad eyes, with diamonds wet; The sun slants through your hair like flame; I think I'd better kill you, Pet! * * * * Sun on the land, where perfumes call; Here in the garden we were wed in, The graves are green by the old stone wall: God, what a day to be quite dead in! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WASHINGTON MONUMENT BY NIGHT by CARL SANDBURG ON AN ANNIVERSARY by JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE BARCAROLE: DE VIGNY by E. G. B. GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 2 by RICHARD BARNFIELD THE SECRET OF THE BEES by LOUISA SARAH BEVINGTON NATALIA'S RESURRECTION: 22 by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT |