HOW steadfastly she'd worked at it! How lovingly had drest With all her would-be-mother's wit That little rosy nest! How longingly she'd hung on it! -- It sometimes seemed, she said, There lay beneath its coverlet A little sleeping head. He came at last, the tiny guest, Ere bleak December fled; That rosy nest he never prest... Her coffin was his bed. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...FACADE: 2. THE BAT by EDITH SITWELL TO THE WATER NYMPHS DRINKING AT THE FOUNTAIN by ROBERT HERRICK A FATHER OF WOMEN: AD SOROREM E. B. by ALICE MEYNELL I AM NOT YOURS by SARA TEASDALE LINES by FRANKLIN PIERCE ADAMS A POEM FOR THE SEFIROT AS WHEEL OF LIGHT by NAFTALI BACHARACH |